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"^' FARM FOLKS 

BY 
ARTHUR LEWIS TUBES 



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THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
PHILADELPHIA 




Book .Ul3J^. 



lb 

FARM FOLKS 

A Rural Play in Four Acts 

BY 

ARTHUR LEWIS TUBBS 

Author of "THE FINGER OF SCORN." "THE HEART 
OF A HERO," " FOLLOWED BY FATE." etc. 




PHILADELPHIA 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1909 






Copyright 1909 by The Penn Publishing Company 



Farm Folks 



Farm Folks 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Philip Burleigh From New York, 

Dave Weston A yoimg farmer. 

Amos Goodwin . . . Owner of Silver brook Farm. 

'BijAH Finn . . A Jack-of -all-trades. 

Thompson .... Servant at the Burleigh residence. 

Flora Goodwin ^^ Only a coimtry girl.''^ 

Mrs. Burleigh Philifs ?nother. 

Grace Burleigh His sister. 

Sarah Goodwin Wife of Amos. 

Mrs. Peasley . . . Who never has a minute to spare. 
Delia Slocum Hired girl at the farm. 



ARGUMENT 



Flora Goodwin, a farmer's daughter, is engaged to Philip 
Burleigh, a young New Yorker. Philip's mother wants him 
to marry a society woman, and by falsehoods makes Flora 
believe Philip does not love her. Dave Weston, who wants 
Flora himself, helps the deception by intercepting a letter 
from Philip to Flora. She agrees to marry Dave, but on 
the eve of their marriage Dave confesses, Philip learns the 
truth, and he and Flora are reunited. 



SYNOPSIS 



Act I. — The yard at Silverbrook Farm, on an afternoon in 

August. 
Act it. — Same as Act T, three days later. 
Act III, — At the Burleigh residence, New York City. One 

month has elapsed. 
Act IV. — Back at the farm, a few days afterward. 

Time of Playing: — Two hours and a half. 
3 



COSTUMES AND CHARACTERISTICS 

Philip Burleigh. A handsome, polished New York busi- 
ness man, about twenty-five or thirty years old. He is 
cultured and ''stylish," without affectation or pom- 
posity; of a frank and friendly disposition. In Act I 
he wears a handsome summer suit appropriate for 
traveling, with straw hat. Act 111, evening dress. 
Act IV, dark suit, Derby hat, which he carries and 
lays aside as he enters. 

Dave Weston. A good-looking, sturdy and manly young 
farmer, of the rugged and wholesome type. He wears 
in Acts I and II a plain but neat summer suit, with 
soft or straw hat. Act IV, the same, or similar attire. 

Amos Goodwin. Typical farmer, but not of the " hay- 
seed " type ; rather, a prosperous and intelligent country- 
man, about sixty years of age. In Acts I and II he 
wears his working clothes, which, however, are not 
untidy; large straw hat. Act IV, plain suit, neat, 
and a bit more dressy. 

'BijAH Finn. If convenient, he should be along, 'Manky" 
individual, rather "green," though shrewd and by no 
means a bumpkin. In Acts I and II he wears baggy 
trousers, or overalls, with colored shirt; vest, but no 
coat; tattered straw hat. He carries a small satchel 
containing his working tools. In Act III he is dressed 
in his new "best suit," which looks cheap and countri- 
fied. In Act IV he shows an attempt at "city style," 
with a cheap fancy suit, gay vest, flaring necktie, etc. 

Thompson. Livery, or dress-suit, appropriate to the butler 
in a fashionable city residence. He is very stiff and 
pompous, generally looking straight ahead, and never 
deigning to smile. 

Flora Goodwin. A pretty, demure country girl, eighteen 
to twenty-two years old. She shows gentility and re- 
finement, though she is inclined to shyness. She wears 
in Acts I and II pretty and becoming but modest sum- 
mer dresses. Act IV, dress of some dark material, the 
waist of which she changes for one more elegant, 
though it is not elaborate. 

Mrs. Burleigh. A handsome, dignified and haughty 
woman of fifty or sixty. Tall, stately, with gray hair, 
but a comparatively young face. In Act II she is at- 
tired in an elegant summer gown, appropriate to out- 

4 



COSTUMES AND CHARACTERISTICS 

door wear, with hat, parasol and a lorgnette. Act III, 
very elaborate evening gown, with jewels. 

Grace Burleigh. Typical city girl of beauty and culture, 
but inclined to be a bit *' free and easy " when oppor- 
tunity offers. Evidently reared in pride, but of a 
gentle nature which reflects more of her brother's kind- 
heartedness and sincerity than of her mother's haughti- 
ness. Her costume in Act II is a fancy summer dress, 
with large hat, etc., all rich and in excellent taste. 
Act III, pretty house dress, which she changes to an 
elegant evening gown. Act IV, traveling outfit. 

Sarah Goodwin. A plain farmer's wife, about fifty, 
motherly and sympathetic ; hair combed straight back, 
done up in knot behind. Neat dresses, appropriate to 
the occasion. 

Mrs. Peasley. A nervous, fussy little woman of the typical 
"country gossip " type ; forty to fifty years of age. In 
Acts I and II she wears a calico dress, with sunbonnet 
or small hat. Act IV, neat calico or gingham dress, 
with white apron. 

Delia Slocum. The typical country '* hired girl." Acts I 
and II, calico dress, with apron ; not too neat. Hair 
somewhat awry, though she should not be exactly 
"slouchy." A bit cranky at times, but good-natured 
and likeable withal. Her get-up in Act III should be 
a bit grotesque, but not overdone. Act IV, plain 
house dress, with white apron. She is to be as funny as 
possible, without becoming a caricature. 



PROPERTIES 

Act I. — Pan, containing potatoes ; paring knife. Glass of 
water. Small parcel. Slip of paper. Hand-bag or 
dress-suit case. Camp-stool, sketching or painting ma- 
terials. 

Act II. — Knitting or sewing work. Sealed, stamped and 
addressed envelope. Glass of water. Letter, stamped 
and addressed, the envelope torn open. Letter, same 
as in Act I. 

Act III. — Book. Satchel, bundle, etc. Small kit of pocket 
tools. 

Act IV. — Cabinet organ off stage. Cook-book. Waist to 
Flora's "going-away" dress. Sewing materials. Flour. 
Letter, same as in Acts I and II. Traveling bags. 

5 



SCENE PLOTS 

Acts I and II 



FARM. LANDSC/iP£ O/^OP 



F^NCS 



GAT^ 



\ 



yyooD 



a, 



.PORCH- 



yyWGS / /BENCH 



Scene. — Yard at Silverbrook Farm. Landscape drop. 
House, with porch, l. Fence along back, with gate c. 
Wooden bench down r. 

Act III 



PROP* 







Imantel 

O TABLE 
D 



CHA/R^ 




Scene. — Parlor at Burleigh's house, New York. Wide 
door with portieres, c. Doors r. and l. Mantel, up R., 
with clock. Table and chairs R. c. Sofa and small chair 
or tabouret L. Chairs near door c. Other furnishings as 
desired. 



SCENE PLOTS 



Act IV 



LANDSCAPE DROP 
OOOR 




Scene. — Sitting-room at Silverbrook Farm. Doors r. 
and L., and door in flat, l. Window in flat, r. Table and 
chairs r. and chair and sofa L. Tall clock up r. Other 
furnishings as desired. 



Farm Folks 



ACT I 



SCENE. — The yard at Silverbrook Farm. House^ with 
porch L. ; fefice along back, with gate c. ; far7Jt back- 
ing. There is a woodeft bench down R. , and the usual 
surroundings of a prosperous far 7n. £> is cover Delia 
Slocum, with pan, peeling potatoes, seated on steps of 
porch. As the curtain rises, 'Bijah Finn is heard 
whistling off v.. \ Delia sets down pan, rises and goes 
to gate, looks off to R. , and after a slight pause hur- 
riedly goes back to porch and resumes her task. 'Bijah 
comes slowly in fro?n r., beyond fence, still whistling, 
at first 7iot noticing Delia. He passes gate, pauses, 
looks about, and sees her. She does not look up until 
after he speaks. 

'Bijah. Why, Delia, that you ? I didn't see y', just at 
fust. 

{Goes back and stands leaning over fence, l. c, looking 
earnestly at her.') 

Delia. My name's Miss Slocum, Mr. Finn. Please call 

me by it. 
'Bijah. Sho ! Wal, now, I thought it was Delia. 
Delia. So it is, but it's '' Miss " t' you, f r yet a while. I 

don't call you by y'r first name, do I? 
'Bijah. No, but 'tain' t my fault. Wish y' would. {Pause, 

during which she works busily, ignoring him, while he 

regards her with a good-natured, rather affectionate y 

expression.) What y' doin*, De — Miss Slocum? 
Delia. Can't you see? 

'Bijah. Looks some like you was a-peelin' somethin'. 
Delia. Land, ain't you brilliant? Wonder 'f you can tell 

what. {Rises, goes and shows him the potatoes.) What 

do they look like — squashes 'r turnips ? 



FARM FOLKS 

'BijAH. Why, — er — they look some like p'taters, seems t* 
me. D' know's I'd call 'em either squashes 'r turnips. 

Delia. Well, that's jest what they are — p'tatoes — and I'm 
peelin' 'em for supper. (S/ie has resi{77ied her seat.^ 
Takes an awful lot, too, they're such eaters, 'n* always 
want a meat supper, even in the summer lime. I de- 
clare, y' might's well be a black slave, 'n' done with it, 
as hired girl on a farm. 

'BijAH. S'pose 'tis a kind of a hard job. Why don't y* git 
married, — m'm — Miss Slocum? 

Delia. Yes, — 'n' do jest as much work only not get any 
pay for it. No, thank y', Mr. Finn, I'll work for 
wages, if I've got t' work. Where you started for? 

'BijAH. Up t' Perkinses', t' fix their stoop. So y' ain't 
got no idee o* gitt'n' married. Miss — a — Slocum? 

Delia. No, I ain't; 'n' if I had, it wouldn't be no Jack- 
of-all-trades. 

'BijAH. Sho ! y' don't say ? Meanin' me, I s'pose? Wal, 
they can't say 't I ain't master o' none. I cal'late what- 
ever I do, 's done right. B'sides, 'f I do say it m'self, 
when y' come right down to it, y' might do wuss. I've 
enough in the bank t* buy an umbreller when that rainy 
day comes 't they tell about. 'Tany rate, I d' know's 
I've perposed yet. 

Delia. Land ! I didn't say 't you had, 'n' it wouldn't do 
you any good if y' did. I guess you ain't the only man 
in th* world. 

'BijAH. Guess I ain't. 'F I was, I'd have a cinch. Wal, 
guess I'll be gitt'n' along. {Starts l., but looks hack^ 
off R.) Here comes Mis' Peasley, like all p'sessed. 

Delia (rising). H'm ! I'll go in the house. If she gets 
started once, they's no saying when she'll stop. 

{About to go in house when Mrs. Peasley hurries in r., 
down through gate.) 

Mrs. Peasley. Good-afternoon, Delia. (Delia is com- 
pelled to pause and comes back to edge of porch.) Mis' 
Goodwin t* home? 

Delia. Yes. I'll go 'n' call her. {Starts.) 

Mrs. p. I wish y' would. I want t' see her, but I ain't 
got a minute t' spare. And, Delia 

Delia. Well? 

10 



FABM FOLKS 

Mrs. p. I wonder if it 'd be too much trouble for you t* 

give me a drink of water. I'm so dry. 
Delia. Why, no, of course not. I'll get you some. 

{^Exit to house.') 

'BijAH. How d' do, Mis' Peasley? 

Mrs. p. {sitting on edge of porch, fanning herself with her 

sunbonnet or aprofi). Why, how d' do, Mr. Finn? 

Awful warm, ain't it? 
'BijAH. Wal, 'tain't much like it was last Christmas. Suits 

me, though. I like hot weather, 'n' I'd worry a good 

deal more 'f they said wicked folks had t' go to a cold 

place. I'd ruther fry than freeze. 
Mrs. p. Land, what talk ! I guess you won't have no 

choice. (Glances into house.') Contrary 's ever? 
'BiJAH. Who? 

Mrs. p. I guess you know who I mean. Delia Slocum, 
of course. Everybuddy knows you've be'n shinin' up 
to her f 'r the last five 'r six years. Dretful hang-o^ash, 
ain't she? 

'BijAH. Wal, what's wuth havin' 's wuth wait'n' for, 'n', 
t' tell the truth, I ain't never come to the p'int yet, so 
they's no sayin'. As f 'r shinin' up to 'er, I'll admit 
they's be'n a few sparks, but I d' know's I'd 'xactly 
call it a shine. Here she comes. 

(^£nter Delia with^a glass of water.) 

Delia. Here it is, Mis' Peasley. 

Mrs. P. {taking the glass). Thanks, Delia. {Drinks.) 

Delia. Have some, Mr. Finn ? 

'BijAH. No, thanks, I ain't thirsty. Jest had a drink out 
o' Bennett's pump. 

Mrs. p. {giving Delia the glass, just as Sarah Goodwin 
enters from house, down to L. c). Oh, good -after- 
noon. Mis' Goodwin. I jest stopped t' see 'f I could 
get your receipt for riz biscuit. Of course, I know how, 
but they ain't nothin' like yours — the kind you had 
that time they had the church sociable at your house. 
They was the best I ever eat. 

Sarah. Why, certainly, Mrs. Peasley. If you'll wait, I'll 
write it down. 

(Delia ^^<?J into the house. 'Bijah still by fence.) 
II 



FARM FOLKS 

Mrs. p. Thanks. I'll appreciate it, Mis' Goodwin. Y* 
see, my summer boarders arrived last night, 'n' I want 
t' make some for supper. 

Sarah. Did they? I thought they wasn't coming till next 
week ? 

Mrs. p. So did I, but they took a sudden fit 'n' come right 
in on me. I was terribly upset, they're sech dretful 
stylish folks. But I'll have t' be goin'. {Starts upc.) 
I'm goin' to the store to order some things, *n' 1 ain't 
got a minute t' spare. Anything I can do for y' down 
't the village, Mis' Goodwin ? 

Sarah. No, thank you, Mrs. Peasley. Can't you wait for 
that receipt ? 

Mrs. p. I'll stop on my way back. I've got t' hurry like 
anything. I never was so rushed. {Up to gate ^ but 
pauses and comes part way back.) Yes, they're awful 
stylish. I s'pose you know who 'tis? 

Sarah. Why, no, I don't. I haven't heard. 

'BijAH. Neither 've I, Mis' Peasley. Who be they? 

Mrs. p. Why, it's Mis' Burleigh 'n' her daughter, from 
New York, the mother 'n' sister of that Mr. Burleigh 't 
was here last summer 'n' paid so much attention t' your 
Flora, Mis' Goodwin. 

Sarah. You don't say ? I wonder whatever brings them 
here. 

Mrs. p. M'm — wal, I couldn't say, but I kind o* s'mise 
— I d' know's I'd ought t' say. Mis' Goodwin. I'm 
afeared you might be offended. 

Sarah. Why, I don't know what you mean. 

'BijAH. Might's well out with it. Mis' Peasley. A hint's 
wuss 'n the plain facts, sometimes. 

Mrs. p. I don't know as it is a fact, but — wal, I've heard 
some folks say that he hadn't ought t' pay her s' much 
attention unless he meant something by it. Seems t' 
me mebbe he does, 'n' his folks have come here t' kind 
o' look your Flora over, 'n' see what they think of her. 

Sarah. Oh ! I hardly think that. 

Mrs. p. Wal, I d' know. That's just my idee. But I 
must go. Here I stand, talkin', when I ain't got a 
minute t' spare. {About to go, but again pauses.) 
They certainly are stylish, though. What d' you 
think? They took on something terrible b'cause I 
couldn't give 'em a ''sweet of rooms," as they call it, 

12 



FA £31 FOLKS 

with a "bath attached," whatever that is. 'N' the 
things they want fixed up t' eat, 'n' the style they put 
on, is the worst I ever see. But, then, I s'pose they're 
awful rich. 

'BijAH. Millionaires, ain't they? 

Mrs. p. That's what I've heard. But I must say, that 
young Mr. Burleigh never acted that way. He used t' 
make himself real common. 

Sarah. No, nobody could ever call him stuck up, though 
you can see that he's a perfect gentleman. Why, he 
used to come in last summer and set down and eat a 
meal of victuals with us, just like he was one of us. It 
used to mortify Flora, though, because we didn't have 
things nicer. But I told her, if he was one of the kind 
that thought any the less of us because we was plain 
farm folks, without any style, he wasn't the kind we 
need care about. But I must say, he never gave us the 
least cause to think he felt above us. 

Mrs. p. Wal, then, mebbe he means t' marry her. I hope 
he does, 'cause if he don't show no signs of it when he 
comes back, folks'U be sure t' talk, 'n' — but I never 
gossip, 'n' it ain't none o' my business. I must be 
goin*. Good-bye, Mis' Goodwin. 

(^Through gafe, passing 'Bijah anti going l.) 

Sarah. Good-day, Mrs. Peasley. I'll have your receipt 
ready. 

Mrs. p. {s/tg has paused^ standing where 'Bijah didy he 
having come part way down to c). I'll be ever so 
much obliged. {Starts, then again comes back.) Oh, 
Mr. Finn, I meant to ask you if you couldn't stop in 
n' mend our clock. It loses time so 't it bothers me 
terrible. 

'Bijah. Yes, Mis' Peasley, I'll be there t'-morrer after- 
noon. I'll be busy in the forenoon. Got t' put a pane 
o' glass in for Sam Newell. 

Mrs. p. Wal, that'll have t' do then. Dear me, I must 
hurry down t' that store. I never was so rushed. 
Seems t' me I never do have a minute t' spare. 

(^Hurries off L.) 

'Bijah. Don't you pay no 'tention t' what she says, Mis' 

13 



FAR 31 FOLKS 

Goodwin. She ain't wiith noticin'. 'N' as for that 
Mr. Burleigh 'n' your Flora, — I reckon he ain't the 
kind t' do notliin' 't ain't jest square. (Goes up.) 
Any work y' want done, Mis' Goodwin? 

Sarah. Why, yes, 'Bijah. I want the sitting-room papered. 
When can you do it ? 

'Bijah {tip beyond fence). Middle o' next week, soon's I 
get through shinglin' Joe Thompson's roof. I'll be over 
t*-morrer 'n' see y' 'bout it. Good-day. 

('Bijah goes off to l. ; Sarah exits to house, and as she 
disappears Dave Weston enters, r. He stands up r. 
for a motnejit, looking about, theti comes dowti, Just as 
Delia enters from house. He carries a small pack- 
age. Delia comes dow7i steps and starts to cross to r. 
Dave stops her.) 

Dave. What's your hurry, Delia? I want to ask you 

something. 
Delia. I've got t' go 'n' see 'f them hens have laid any 

eggs. 
Dave. I hope they haven't laid bricks, or anything like 

that. I 

Delia. Huh ! think you're smart, don't y' ? What you 

want ? 

Dave. I want to know something, and 

Delia. Oh, y' do? Well, I never see a man yet that 

didn't need t'. What is it ? 
Dave. That's what I don't know. If I did, I wouldn't ask 

you. {Gets closer to her.) Delia, you must know 

I'm in love 

Delia. What ! Land, you men're all alike. That's two 

t'-day. Well, I ain't in the market. {Starts toward'^.) 

Them eggs' 11 have time t' hatch, if I stand here talkin' 

t' you. 
Dave. Just a minute. It isn't you I'm in love with, so I 

wouldn't count those chickens before they're hatched. 
Delia {turning, coming back). Oh, indeed ? I guess you 

didn't fool me none. I ain't s' blind 's not t' know 

who you're in love with, n'r t' see that she's got better 

chances 'n yourn. I know what you want — it's how 

much I know about Flora Goodwin and that rich Mr. 

Burleigh from New York. All I've got t' say is, you 

14 



FA EM FOLKS 

must be pretty slow if you ain't found out how the land 
lays, by this time. 

Dave. She won't give me an answer — at least, I 

Delia. You mean you won't take it when she gives it, I 
guess. Well, I ain't no matrimony agency, 'n' if they 
say a woman can't keep her mouth shut, I'm here t* 
prove it ain't no such thing. (^Goes to r.) 

Dave. He came to-day. 

Delia. Who did— Mr. Burleigh ? 

Dave. I thought that would interest you. Yes, Mr. Bur- 
leigh. I saw him. 

Delia. 'N' I s'pose you're worried f'r fear he's come t' 
take her away from y' ? How d' y' know but what it's 
me he's come to perpose to ? 

{Laughs and rtms off R. Dave stands for a minute look- 
ing after her, starts np c, but pauses as Amos Good- 
win enters y r. At the same time, Sarah reappears on 
porch, with a slip of paper in her hand.) 

Amos. AVhy, hello, Dave. Quit work early t'-day,' didn't 

y'? 

Dave. Yes. I've been over to Glenville to get a few 
things, and to have the horses shod. Where's Flora ? 
I brought her something. 

(Swings package in his hand.) 

Sarah. Did you, Dave? That's real kind of you. Flora 
went down in the meadow with her painting things. 
Says she's going to paint a picture of the old sawmill. 
She's taken a wonderful fancy to painting pictures, here 
of late. 

Dave. Yes, I know she has. Seems to me she's getting 
altogether too many high notions. It won't do her any 
good. 

Sarah. High notions ? Why, Dave, I don't know just 
what you mean. She always did have ideas above her 
pa and me, but you know she spent a whole month up 
in Albany one winter, with his cousin's folks, and ever 
since then she's tried to improve herself. 

Dave. Yes, and get herself up where she'll look down on 
common folks like me. I can see how it'll be, espe- 
cially since that city fellow got her on a string, last 
summer. 

15 



FAEM FOLKS 

Amos. I wouldn't talk that way, Dave. Flora ain't the 
kind t' let any feller get her ** on a string," as you call 
it; 'n' as for her feelin' above them that's always be'n 
ev'rything to 'er, you ain't got no call t' say that. 

Dave. Well, she'll get talked about, Mr. Goodwin, if that 
young Burleigh takes it up where he left off last sum- 
mer. He arrived this noon. 

Sarah. Did he ? Why, Mrs. Peasley said he wasn't com- 
ing for a day or two. 

Dave. Well, he has. I saw him in the stage from Glen- 
ville. It's a wonder he didn't let Flora know he was 
coming. 

Sarah. Why, he did, only 

Dave. So, he writes to her, does he ? Has all winter; I 
suppose ? 

Sarah. I guess she had a few letters from him, Dave. 

Dave. So, that's how the land lays, is it? Well, he won't 
find it such smooth sailing, if I have anything to do 
with it. (Goes up L.) 

Amos. Now, Dave, it won't do for you t' go t' gitt'n' 
riled. 

Sarah. He's a perfect gentleman, Dave, and they're only 
just friends. 

Dave {coming down a few steps, showing rising anger). 
I'd like to know what you're thinking of, and you her 
own father and mother ! You must be blind. Don't 
you know that a fellow and a girl can't be friends that 
way, if he doesn't mean anything by it? Well, they 
can't ; not if the girl cares anything about her reputa- 
tion. 

Amos. Hold up, Dave, you're goin' a little too fast. I 
can understand your feelin' kind o' worked up over it, 
seein' you want Flora for y'rself, but I ain't goin' t' let 
you make no sech hints 's that. I guess my little girl's 
reputation is safe. It's safe in Mr. Burleigh's hands, 
too, 'n' I don't need a lecture from you, yet a while, 
about my own daughter's reputation. 

Sarah. Now, Amos, Dave meant all right. 

Dave. Why, of course I did, Mr. Goodwin. But, I tell 
you, this means a lot to me, and I've heard too much 
about these rich city fellows and their country sweet- 
hearts. I hope you'll forgive me if I said anything. I 
didn't mean to offend you. 
x6 



FAE3f FOLKS 

Amos. Oh, that's all right, Dave ; I know you didn't. It 

was real good of you t' bring Flora a present, 'n' 1 know 

she'll appreciate it. Want t' wait till she comes, 'n' 

give it to her? 
Sarah [on porcK). She'll be back pretty soon. It's 'most 

supper time. 
Dave. No, I guess I'll walk down toward the mill and see 

if I can't find her. You don't think she'd care, do 

you? 
Sarah. Care ? Why, Dave, how can you ask such a tiling ? 

She'll be glad to see you, of course, and that present 

'11 be sure to tickle her. {In door.) Of course, I don't 

know what it is, but whatever it is 

Dave. It's a comb and brush in a blue plush case, Mrs. 

Goodwin. 
Sarah. Well, now, if that ain't just the thing ! It wasn't 

more'n a week ago I heard her say she'd ought to have 

a new brush and comb. I declare, Dave, I guess 

you're a mind reader. 

{Exit to house.) 

Amos. 'Twas real lucky you happened t' hit it like that, 
wa'n't it, Dave? 

Dave. Yes, I'm glad I did. Guess I'll go along down 
that way, and see if I can find her. 

Amos. Yes, Dave, I would. (Dave goes up toward gate ; 
Amos crosses to porch. As Dave reaches c, and is 
about to go off to L., Flora Goodwin is heard laughing 
merrily off L. Dave looks off, with an angry expres^ 
sioUj then turns and comes down to R., standing with 
his back toward "L. c.) That's her, ain't it, Dave? 

(Delia enters r. , holding up her apron. She crosses slowly 
and goes into house ^ looking back curiously.) 

Dave. Yes, it is ; and that city fellow. 

{He goes r., throws the parcel away, over fence, a fid exits 
angrily, r., without looking back.) 

Amos {on porch). Why, Dave ! 

{Comes dowji to l. c, just as Flora enters l., behind fence, 
accompanied by Philip Burleigh. He carries a s?nall 

17 



FABJI FOLKS 

hand-bag and her camp-stool ; she has a palette and 
paint box. They come down through gate, cliatting 
merrily.^ 

Flora. Ob, here's father. Father, here is Mr. Burleigh. 

He just arrived on the stage and overtook me on tlie 

way. 
Philip {cordially, shaking hands with Amos). How do you 

do, Mr. Goodwin? I'm glad to see you. 
Amos. Glad t' see you, too, Mr. Burleigh. 'N' I guess I 

ain't the only one, nuther. 

( With a knoiving look at Flora.) 

Flora {hanging her head; bliishingly). Why, father, of 
course I am glad to see Mr. Burleigh — very glad. 

Philip. Not half so glad as I am to be here with you again, 

and to see you, my {Pauses, in some coiifusion.') 

Well, it does seem, if you really are so glad to see me 
again, you might drop that formal ** Mister." 

Flora. Why, — I — of course, only 

Philip {he has set down his bag and the camp-stool ; now goes 
a7id stands close to her, taking her hand). Mr. 
Goodwin, I have come back to ask you to give me your 
little girl. 

Amos. Why — er — Mr. Burleigh, ain't this kind o' sudden? 

Philip {smiling). Seems to me it is her place to say that. 
But, to tell the truth, I don't see as it is so very sud- 
den. I made up my mind to it last summer, but she 
put me off, and made me promise I'd wait till now, and 
said if I came back still wanting her, she would "see." 
Well, here I am — she sees, says "yes," and now — I 
hope you'll let me have her. 

Amos. So, little one, it's come to this? 

Flora. Yes, father. 

{She goes to him ; he takes her in his arms, her head rest- 
iftg on his shoulder. Philip goes up, stands by fence, 
and looks off to r.) 

Amos. And you love him — for sure ? 

Flora. Oh, father — so much ! And he loves me, too, just 

think of it. He loves me, and I only a country girl. 
Amos. Wal, why shouldn't he, 'n' how could he help it ? 

I think all the more of biim for it. 
18 



FAB3I FOLKS 

Flora. Oh, father ! then you are willing? 

Amos. Sure, I am, if it means your happiness. It's goin' 
t' be mighty hard t' give you up, but I want my littlti 
girl t' do jest what'll make her the happiest. {To 
Philip.) So you want her, do y' ? 

Philip. I do, Mr. Goodwin, with all my heart. 

Amos. Then I ain't goin' t' stand in the way. Take her. 
But I want you both t' think what y're doin'. I think 
too much of her, Mr. Burleigh, t' think that she ain't 
good enough for y', if you be rich 'n' stylish, 'n' she 
only the daughter of a plain old country farmer. I 
think my girl's good enough f'r any man, even a dook 
'r a prince, but sometimes it ain't jest them — sometimes 
others step in. 

Philip. You mean my family — my mother. I am sure 
when she sees my httle sweetheart 

Amos. Wal, I s'pose it won't be long. You can bring her 
around t'-morrer. 

Philip. Why, I don't understand. She is miles away from 
here. 

Amos. Is, is she? I guess it ain't many miles up t' Mis' 
Peasley's. 

Flora. Father ! Is she 

Amos. Of course she is, her 'n' her daughter. Mis' Peas- 
ley was here not fifteen minutes ago, 'n' said they come 
last night. 

Philip. Why, that's strange. My mother told me they 
were going to Newport, and said nothing about coming 
here. She knew I was coming in a few days, but I got 
away sooner than I expected, and — I — I don't know 
what to make of it. 

Flora. Perhaps she wanted to give you a surprise, Mr. 
Bur— Philip. 

Amos. Or git here 'n' see Flora, 'n' kind o' look us all 
over b'fore you got here. I s'pose she knew about you 
'n' Flora? 

Philip. Why, — yes; I told her just before she left. 
She 

Amos. How'd it strike her? 

Philip. She never saw Flora — she has other plans for me, 
but — she wishes to see me happy, and, I am sure, once 
she has seen the little woman I have chosen for my 
wife, she will give her consent. But I can't understand 

19 



FAE3I FOLKS 

why she should come here without letting me know. 
So she is boarding at Mis. Peasley's? 

Amos. Yes. It ain't exactly what you'd call stylish, but 
it's the best place around here where they take board- 
ers, 'n* Mis' Peasley has the name of selt'n' a good 
table. I s'pose you're going t' board there, too? 

Philip. Why, yes ; I wrote to Mrs. Peasley, telling her 
I should like to stay with her for a few days, but I 
didn't expect to come for a week or so yet, so 1 suppose 
she isn't leady for me. 

Amos. Oh, 1 guess she can tuck you in somewhere. So 
you ain't come t' stay all summer ? 

Philip. Oh, no ; only for a couple of days. I must be 
back at the store by Saturday. You see, my manager 
has gone for a trip to Europe, and it makes it difficult 
for me to get away. But I have not been feeling very 
well of late, and the heat in the city is depressing. I 
felt as if I must have a little relaxation. And then, I 
wanted to see Flora. {Looks about.') Where is 
she ? 

Amos. Run away, didn't she? I guess she's kind o' scart. 
Wal, you go on in the house there, 'n' I reckon you'll 
find her wait'n' fer y'. 

Philip {going to steps). All right, I will ; and then I must 
get up to Mrs. Peasley's, for it must be nearly dinner 
time. ( On porch. To hi7nself, as he goes into house.) 
Mother — here — without letting me know, I — won- 
der 

(Amos looks after him, at first douhtfully, then shaking his 
head sideways as if to say, '^ It's allright.'*^ He starts 
up c, but turns, as Sarah, after a pause ^ enters from 
house.) 

Sarah. Oh, you here, Amos? {Comes down.) He's in 
there with her, and — oh, Amos, I'm afraid he's filling 
her head with ideas that won't do her any good. 

Amos. Now, mother, don't you go t' thinkin' up things 
like that. He says he loves her, 'n' if 1 know anything 
about men, he's one. 

Sarah. I don't mean to say he isn't, but even if he did 
mean it, and should make her his wife, it would be an 
unequal match, and I've heard that no good ever comes 
from them. Besides, I'm worried about Dave Weston. 

20 



FAB 31 FOLKS 

Amos. Oh, pshaw, I guess Dave'll git over it. 

Sarah. Yes, but he thinks Flora meant to take him, before 
Mr. Burleigh came along, and I don't know but what 
he had a right to think so. Anyhow, 1 don't like the 
way he takes it, and — well, Mr. Burleigh being from the 
city, and so rich and all ; and then there's that 
stuck-up mother and sister of his 

Amos. There you be, imaginin' things ag'in. Why, you 
ain't never even seen 'em yet. 

Sarah. Mebbe I ain't, but I know what they are. Mis' 
Peasley 

Amos. Oh, if y' want t' listen t' her 



Sarah. It isn't what she says, it's common sense. They're 
rich and stylish, and live in the city, and we're noth- 
ing but plain farm folks. It don't seem natural. Here 
comes Mrs. Peasley back. (S/ie goes to R. c. ; Amos is 
L. c. Enter Mrs. V.from l. ; pauses in gate.) It 
didn't take you long. 

Mrs. P. No, I hurried so I'm all out of breath. That's 
jest the way I go, from mornin' till night. I never have 
a minute t' spare. (^Coines down.) I declare, I guess 
I'll have t' rest a minute, I'm that tuckered out. 
(^Goes and sits on edge of porch.) I never was so up- 
set, all them folks comin' at once, 'n' such high-toned 
big-bugs, too. I never see the beat of that Mis' Bur- 
leigh, the airs she puts on. She holds her head up 's 
if she had a stiff neck, 'n' looks at y' through a pair of 
spectacles fastened onto a parasol handle. (Fans her- 
self.) My, I ain't got my breath yet. I can't hardly 
talk. 

Amos. Too bad. 

Sarah. I s'pose they are real stylish ? 

Mrs. p. Stylish ain't no word for it. That woman looks 
like she could murder anybuddy that went ag'inst her. 
I wouldn't want t' be the one. I thought she wasgoin' 
t' cut my head off b' cause I told her I didn't have no 
bathroom. Mr. Burleigh ain't a bit like her. He was 
perfectly satisfied with a wash-tub. 

Sarah. Yes, he's a nice young man, but I guess she kind 
of rules him. 

Amos. I guess she don't. That's where you don't know 
him. 

Mrs. p. Land, I d' know. All is, I'd be afraid t' say the 

2X 



FABM FOLKS 

moon wa'n't made out o* green cheese, *f she said it 
was. (Ibises.) Wal, I must be goin'. I got t' git up 
a big dinner. Dinner, mind y'. She says they always 
have dinner 't night, 'nslid of the middle of the day. 
I never heerd of sech a thing. Ain't city folks queer? 
Now, Mr. Burleigh, he'd eat cold biled cabbage 'r any- 
thing, 'n' seem t' like it. But her — land, she's got t' 
have things in "courses," 'n' the table all cleared oif 
every time b'fore y' bring on the next. I d' know how 
I'm ever goin' t' keep a girl. 'Lizy Bates 's kicked 
already. Says she ain't goin' t' be bossed around by 
any stuck-up thing like that, f'r three dollars a week 

Sarah. How long they goin' t' stay ? 

Mrs. p. She didn't say, but not long, I hope, 'r I'll be 
frazzled to a mere shadow. Wal, good-day. I really 
must be goin'. Here I stand talkin', 'n' I ain't got a 
minute t' spare. ( Up through gate.') Come over when 
y' git time, Mis' Goodwin. I don't s'pose I'll git 
over here ag'in this month, 'nless I happen t' berushin' 
by. I never have time t' stop a minute, y' know. 
{Goes R., pauses, leans over fence.) She wants six 
courses, everything separate. Did y' ever hear of sech 
a thing? But, then of course they pay good board. 
It's worth it, though, every cent. {Looks doivn.') 
Why, what's this? Somebuddy's dropped a package. 

{Picks up the parcel thrown down by Dave.) 

Amos. Somebody must 'a' lost it. 

Mrs. p. {examining the package). Here's writin' on it : 
''For Flora, with love from Dave." {Comes downy 
hands package to Sarah.) It's for Flora, Mis' Good- 
win, from Dave Weston. I guess she didn't care much 
about it, droppin' it that way. {About to go up again.) 
Wal, it's about the way she's dropped him. 

Sarah. What d' you mean by that, Mrs. Peasley? 

Mrs. P. {lip in gate, turning). Oh, nothin'. I never have 
much t' say, but I have heard that Dave feels pretty 
sore over the way Flora's thrown him over fer Mr. Bur- 
leigh. Not that I blame her a bit— such a man as Mr. 
Burleigh is — but, of course, she'd encouraged Dave all 
along, and I s'pose it don't set very well t' be shook fer 
a richer and a handsomer man. Wal, I must be goin'. 

{Starts to go.') 

22 



faum folks 

Amos. Let 'em talk. Flora ain't done anything mean, 'n' 
she never will. It ain't in her. 

Sarah. No, and I call such talk cruel — about our Flora. 
Why, she never 

Mrs. p. Oh, I ain't sayin' she did, *n', 's I said b'fore, 
when it comes to a choice between Mr. Burleigh and 
Dave Weston — but then, ycu know how it is, folks will 
talk. I hate gossip, f r my part, 'n' I'm thankful I've 
always made it a rule t' be careful what I say, 'n' never 
to repeat things. Dear me, I must hurry home 'n' git 
that course dinner. It must be 'most five o'clock, 'n' 
I ain't got a minute t' spare. Good-day. 

{Exit R.) 

{Enter Philip and Yi^ora, from house to porch, in time to 
see her. They are umioticed by Amos and Sarah.) 

Sarah. Land, she f'rgot all about this receipt. You see, 
that's the way folks 'r' talkin' sayin' Flora has thrown 
over Dave, 'n* not treated him right. They'll say she's 
a flirt. 

Amos. They hadn't better, if I hear 'em. I d' know's 
Dave ever had any claim on her. Anyhow, if Mr. 
Burleigh wants her, 'n' she wants him, Dave can't expect 
t' keep her. A girl wants the one she wants. 

Sarah. Well, you know Dave. He ain't the one t' sub- 
mit when he thinks anybuddy's done wrong by him. 
It's my opinion he'll do somethin' desperate. {She 
turns, sees Flora and Philip.) Land, you here? I 
didn't see you. 

(Flora, who has show7i distress, then fear, as the meaning 
of her mother^ s words has dawfied upon her, timidly 
attempts to move away from Philip, but he draws her 
back to him.") 

Amos. There, mother, she's heard what you said. 

Sarah. Mebbe it's jest 's well if she has. 

Flora {breaking away frovt Philip and running down 

to c). Mother ! what do you mean ? What about 

Dave? He — I — I don't understand. 
Amos. Never you mind, little one. It ain't anything you 

need t' worry about. {She goes to him ; he takes her 

in his arms.) There, there, now, don't you think 

another word about it. 

23 



FAEM FOLKS 

Flora. It's something Mrs. Peasley said about Dave and 
— and me — and — {looking timidly at Philip) him. 

(Amos comforts her^ as she buries her face on his shoulder y 
weeping. ) 

Sarah. Well, you know what a gossip Mis' Peasley is, 
anyway. I guess I wouldn't take it so serious. 

(Philip has come down to c. ; Amos and Flora, l. c. ; 
Sarah, r. c.) 

Philip. Has Mrs. Peasley, or any one dared say that I am 
not dealing honestly with Flora, or that she 



Sarah. Why, no, Mr. Burleigh, of course not, only 

Amos. I ain't afraid t' trust my little girl t' you, Mr. Bur- 
leigh, 'n' mother ain't either. [Enter 1l)an^ at back ; 
stands looki?ig oft, unnoticed.) I've give her to y*, 
and she's yours. 

(Philip draius Flora to him ; she for an instant clings to 
her father, then impulsively turns, with a little cry of 
joy, and is clasped in his arms. He kisses her. Dave, 
still ufiseen, shows anger, starts down c, but suddenly 
turns and goes rapidly off to l. , without looking back, 
Philip and Flora stand c, absorbed in each other. 
Amos looks at them, smiling sentimentally, then slyly 
draivs his hand across his eyes, goes up to Sarah and 
attempts to caress her. She laughs, playfully repulses 
him, and quickly goes into the house. lie follows her 
slowly, shaking his head and smiling happily, disap- 
pearing just as the curtain falls.) 



CURTAIN 



24 



ACT II 

SCENE. — Same as Act /, two days later. Discover Flora 
standing by gate, looking off to L. She remains thus 
in silence for a tnoment, then Delia enters froiji house^ 
pausing on porch. 

Delia. Oh, there you be. My, but you're glum, sence 
that feller of yourn went away. Didn't stay long, did 
he ? (Flora glances at her, but does not reply ; starts 
to go R.) How soon's he comin' back? 

Flora (turning). I don't know. He is very busy, and 
hasn't been able to have the vacation he expected. 

Delia. Kind o' funny, ain't it, for a man 's rich 's he per- 
tends t' be, t' have t' stay 'n the city and work, in the 
summer time ? Seems t' me 

Flora. You don't understand, Delia. It was all he could 
do to get away and come here for a couple of days. 

Delia. Land, but you're the lucky girl ! Leastwise y* 
seem t' be; but y' can't 'most always sometimes ex- 
actly tell. I kind o' suspect those city fellers, the best 
of *em. 

Flora. You needn't say anything to me against Mr. Bur- 
leigh, Delia, for I won't listen to you. I am going for 
a walk. (Starts to go r.) 

Delia. Land, I wa'n't goin' t'. I think he's just grand. 
But for all that, it don't seem likely t' me 't he's goin' 
t' stick t' a country girl what don't know a thing about 
society 'n' style, when he must have lots of them 
dressed-up city girls after him. I'd most be afraid t' 
put too much dependence on it, 'f I was you, f'r fear 
I'd be disappointed. (Flora has paused a^ai?i and is 
standing r.) Oh, I don't mean t' say anything ag'inst 
your beau, but — well, there ain't no rose, 's I've heard 
say, that don't have a thorn attached to it. (Flora 
covers her face, weepins^.) Land, if you ain't cryin' ! 
What 've I said? (Down to r. c.) 

{Enter Sarah, frotn house. ^ 



FAim FOLKS 

Flora. Nothing, only— oh, I don't know. While he was 
here, I was so sure of him, and — but now, I — I'm 
almost afraid what you say is true. 

Sarah. What's Delia been saying now, Flora? 

Delia. Why, not a thing, only that it ain't best always t* 
be too sure. 

Sarah. Oh ! I s'pose you was talkin' about him ? 

Flora. Yes, mother. Oh, mother, do you think he really 
loves me ? 

Sarah. Why, of course. Anyway, he thinks he does. 
I'm kind o' like Delia, though; I wouldn't be too fast. 

Delia. That's jest it, Mis' Goodwin. You can git married 
in ten minutes, but once you are, you are, and there y' 
be. Now, there's 'Bijah Finn. As long 's he's been 
hangin' 'round, 1 can't quite make up my mind. 

Flora. I just know he loves me and is good and true. I 
must be crazy to let you or anybody make me doubt 
him for one minute. It's just because I miss him so, 
and — but when the mail comes and I get his letter, 
then I will feel better. It's nearly time, isn't it ? 

Sarah. Yes. 'Bijah Finn said he'd bring it along as he 
went by. He's goin' up t' Mis' Peasley's t' fix her 
clock. I guess he'll be here pretty soon. Delia, I 
wish you'd come in and stir up some o' that gold cake 
for supper. You needn't frost it. 

Delia {going to house). All right, Mis' Goodwin. {In 
door, Iooki?ig back at Flora.) S'pose I'll be stirrin' up 
wedd'n' cake b'fore long. 

(Exit.) 

Sarah {coming down to c. ; Flora is r.). When did you 
two cal'late you'd get married? 

Flora. Oh, mother ! Why, we — we didn't decide on 
that. He said by September, anyway, if you and 
father were willing. {In cojifusion, about to go.) I — 
I thought I'd take a little walk. My head aches, and 
I thought it might do it good. 

Sarah. All right, 1 would. Don't stay too long, though. 

Flora. No. 1 want my letter, you know. 

( Goes off to R. I E. ) 

(Sarak, tvJio has knitting or sewing, goes and sits down on 

26 



FAE3I FOLKS 

porchy workijig. After a pause^ enter Mrs. P., hur- 
riedly, R., down through gate.) 

Mrs. p. Good -afternoon, Mis' Goodwin. 
Sarah. Why, Mis' Peasley, is that you ? 
Mrs. p. Yes, what they is left of me. Don't I look like a 
remnant ? I declare, 1 feel 's if I'd been pulled through 
a knot-hole 'n' back again. What with breakfasts at 
'most noon, and ** luncheon," 's she calls it, in the 
middle of the afternoon, 'n' course dinner 't well nigh 
ont' bedtime, I'm near played out. What do y' think? 
She wants "a la" fixin's now, 'n' I ain't the least idee 
what they be. Have you ? 
Sarah. Mebbe it's some kind of pudding. Did you look 

in the cook-book ? 
Mrs. p. Yes, 'n' sent 'Lizy Bates down t' the store t' see 
'f they had any, but Mr. Johnson said they must be 
somethin' new, he didn't have any in stock. I de- 
clare, that woman'U drive me crazy, if she stays much 
longer. Land, the airs she puts on would make a 
windmill jealous. 
Sarah. How long they go'n' t' stay? 
Mrs. p. She ain't jest said, yet. Mr. Burleigh's gone 

back, y' know. 
Sarah. Yes. He had t' go 'n' attend to some business. 
Mrs. p. Wal, I s'pose they're engaged ? Flora, I mean — 

'n' him. 
Sarah. If they are, it isn't announced yet. 
Mrs. p. I guess it might 's well be. I d' know how she'll 
take it — his mother, I mean. Flora ain't exactly their 
kind, 'n' they ain't no tellin' how it'll turn out. 
Sarah. Wal, they's no use hirin' a rig t* go and meet 
trouble half way. It'll get here quick enough. I 
b'lieve in hopin' for the best. 
Mrs. p. W^ell, marriage is a lottery, anyway, with more 
blanks th'n prizes. It's f 'r better 'r worse, *n' ten t' 
one it's worse 'n you expected. But, then, of course, 
love's blind ; but, goodness knows, most of 'em soon 
have their eyes opened. 
Sarah. I hope Flora '11 be happy. 

Mrs. p. Land, I hope so too, 'n' I ain't sayin' but what I 
think she will, but it's goin* t' take a lot of love, 'I 
seems t' me, t' get along with that stuck-up mother o' 
27 



FAEIf FOLKS 

his. (Jvises.) Wal, I must be goin'. I ain't got a min- 
ute t' spare. I jest thought I'd run over. (Goes ///.) 

Sarah. 'Lizy Bates goin' t' slay ? 

Mrs. p. Yes, she says she won't desert the ship. I've 
had t' raise her wages, though, fifty cents a week. 

(Sarah rises / stands l. c.) 

Sarah. Girls ain't easy to get, nowadays. I fairly have 
to coax Delia Slocum to stay, sometimes, she's so anx- 
ious to go to the city and see the sights. Says she 
could work in a factory or a store, and be where some- 
thing was going on. 

Mrs. p. Don't you think she'll ever take 'Bijah Finn ? 

Sarah. I think mebbe she will, if he waits long enough. 
But she says there's lots of good fish in the sea, with- 
out taking one Finn. 

Mrs. p. Huh ! 1 s'pose she wants a gold fish. 

Sarah. Mebbe. Anyhow, a woman ought to be able to 
think the man she gets is as good as gold. 

Mrs. p. Land, seems t' me most o' the men have got 
more brass th'n anything else. But I mustn't stand 
here gabbin'. {Going.) I d' know what she'll say 
when she hears 't I ain't got none o' them "a la's." 

{Exit to R.) 

(Sarah is about to go into the house when Dave enters from 
L. She pauses as she sees him.) 

Sarah. Why, Dave, where'd you come from? Ain't you 
workin' t'-day ? 

Dave {in gate). No, Mis' Goodwin, not this afternoon. 
Pm thinking of going away. 

Sarah. Going away ? Why, Dave, what for, and where 
to? 

Dave. Oh, I don't know — I don't care — anywhere, away 
from here. Somehow, Pm afraid of myself, if I stay 
around here, and — well, I think Pd better go away 
somewhere. Out West, maybe. 

Sarah {she is l. c. ; he comes doian to c). I s'pose it's 
on account of Flora and — him. I wish you wouldn't 
feel that way, Dave; it ain't right. Love don't always 
come where it's wanted, you know, and there's times 
when it's our duty to make the best of things. 



FAEM FOLKS 

Dave. I know that, Mis' Goodwin, and that's what I mean 
to do; but I can't do it if I stay here, where I can see 
her, and maybe him. If he should come back, and — 
and anything should happen to make me think he 
wasn't worthy of her, I don't dare think what I might 
do. 

Sarah. Oh, Dave, you scare me when you talk like that. 
Mebbe you had better go away for a while. I feel 
for you, Dave, and if I had my way, it's you she'd 
have 

Dave. Is it, Mis' Goodwin ? Do you mean that ? 

Sarah. Yes, Dave, I do. To tell the truth, I ain't so 
sure it's going to be for the best, the way things are 
going. Not that I don't think he means all right by 
Flora, but there's his folks, the style they live in, and 
everything, and — well, it don't seem just natural, some- 
how. But, there, we mustn't talk about it any more. 
It only makes it all the worse for you. 

Dave. When's he coming back? 

Sarah. I don't know. He's awful busy, and mebbe won't 
be able to come for yet a while. Flora's all upset, she 
misses him so, she says. She's looking for a letter; 
expects 'Bijah Finn with it any minute now. (^Goes 
to steps.) To tell the truth, Dave, I don't b'lieve she 
feels so sure of him herself when he ain't here to make 
her. {In door.') I've got to see if Delia's stirring up 
that cake all right. (/« door.) Won't you come in, 
Dave? 

Dave. No, thanks. Mis' Goodwin ; I'll have to be getting 
along. I hope you won't think too much about what I 
said. 

Sarah. Why, no, of course not ; I know you too well to 
believe you'd do anything that wasn't right, Dave. 
But mebbe it would be jest as well if you went away for 
a while. They expect to get married in September; 
then you could come back. 

{Exit to house.) 

(Dave, startled at her words, seems about to call her hack, 

but changes his mind, pauses c. , lookiits:; after her a 

moment, as if dazed, then shows an^er, clenching his 

fist, starts up c, but pauses, comes back, takes a let- 

29 



FABM FOLKS 

ter from his pocket, looks at it closely, with signs of 
agitation.) 

Dave. From New York — from him ! I won't — give — it — 

to — her. She'll think he didn't write, and maybe 

{^Pauses, about to put the letter i?i his pocket, but thinks 
better of it. Goes toward house, calls. ) Mis' Good- 
win ! Mis' Goodwin, here's that letter. I 

( Voices are heard off r. ; he turns and looks off, starts up 
C, as if to get away a?id escape notice, but is inter- 
cepted by Mrs. Burleigh, who enters from r., fol- 
lowed by Grace Burleigh. He is compelled to re- 
main, coming back down to L. c, as they see hifn. 
Mrs. B. comes doivn to c. ; Grace remains up beyond 
fence, looking curiously about.^ 

Mrs. B. I beg your pardon, but is this Mr. Goodwin's 
residence? 

Dave {removing his hat, bowing politely). It is, ma'am. 

Mrs. B. I suppose you are — what they call "the hired 
man," perhaps ? Then 

Dave. No, I am 

Mrs. B. Will you inform Miss Goodwin — Miss Flora 
Goodwin — that I wish to see her? Say that Mrs. Bur- 
leigh — and Miss Grace Burleigh — have called. 

Dave. Miss Goodwin is not at home just now, ma'am. 
I'll call her mother, if you say so. 1 am Mr. Weston. 

Mrs. B. {looking at him curiously, through her lorgnette). 
Oh, indeed, — Mr. Weston. I have heard Mrs. Peasley 
speak of you. 

Dave. Then, I dare say you know all there is to know. 

Mrs. B. Well, she is not chary in that respect, to be sure. 
At any rate, I have learned that you had a fondness — 
I hope you will excuse me if I speak rather plainly ? 

Dave. Certainly. The plainer the better, perhaps, if there 
is anything to be said. Only, I must request that you 
grant me the same privilege. 

Mrs. B. {somewhat taken aback). Why, to be sure, I — 
well, then we will come to the point at once. {To 
Grace, who stands up c, listenifig.) Grace, dear, 
don't you thimc you might take a little walk, and re- 
turn in a few minutes ? You will find me here. 

30 



FAE3I FOLKS 

Grace. Now, mamma, what's the use? You needn't try 
to conceal things from me. I understand the whole 
thing as well as you do, and sympathize with you per- 
fectly. The idea of sending me away ! 

Mrs. B. Oh, very well; I suppose you are right. (To 
Dave.) I know this is very unusual, Mr. Weston, as 
we have never met before, but under the circumstances 
I think we may waive formality and converse freely. 

Dave. Certainly, ma'am. 

Mrs. B. May 1 be excused also if I take for granted that 
we understand each other perfectly in this matter ? 

Dave. Well, I — I can't say that I do just understand. If 
you mean about your son and Flora — Miss Goodwin, I 
— well, I suppose we do. 

Mrs. B. Yes, I think we do. You must be aware of the 
fact that my son has been foolish enough to permit 
himself to become fascinated by the wiles of the farmer's 
pretty daughter — for I understand she is pretty 

Dave. She is, ma'am, and as good and true as she is 
pretty. I don't think "wiles" is just the word. She 
is not that kind of girl. 

Grace. But, Mr. Weston, I am sure you know what my 
mother means. My brother is so susceptible to femi- 
nine charms, and 

Mrs. B. Grace ! I must insist that you do not address 
Mr. Weston. You have not been introduced, and it is 
most irregular. 

Grace. I don't see how — with him. Besides, you haven't 
been introduced either. 

Dave (politely, but with some sarcasm to Mrs. B., as he is 
about to go'). Excuse me, but I hope you will remem- 
ber that any of this "irregularity" is not of my seek- 
ing. Perhaps we'd better wait for an introduction. 

Grace {smilingly, to herself). That's a good one. 

Mrs. B. Mr. Weston, you will oblige me by remaining 
and hearing what I have to say. {He pauses, co7Jii7ig 
back.') As I remarked before, we will waive all formal- 
ity and come at once to the point. There is nothing I 
desire so much as to break off this foolish match be- 
tween my son and Miss — Goodwin, I believe is her 
name. Am I justified in believing that you are anxious 
for the same thing to happen? 

Dave. No. I wish to see her happy. If she loves your 

31 



FABM FOLKS 

son, and he loves her and is worthy of her, I wouldn't 
want to see the match broken off. Why should I? 

Grace. Of course, mother ; why should he ? 

Mrs. B. Grace! (To Dave.) " Worthy of her," you 
say — my son ! But, then, of course, we look at these 
things from a different standpoint. You say you wish 
only to see her happy. Well, then, you cannot possi- 
bly wish to see her married to my son. It could not 
mean happiness for her, nor for him. However, we 
will consider only her. My son is a man of the world, 
he meets the most brilliant, cultivated women, those 
who have wealth, position, all that is necessary to rec- 
ognition in our world — a world in which she would be 
entirely out of place. 

Dave. Seems to me Flora couldn't be out of place any- 
where. 

Mrs. B. But you, too, are unused to the ways of the world. 
Do you think my son's love — or infatuation — could last, 
when she was brought into direct comparison with the 
sort of women he is accustomed to know ? 

Dave. Perhaps the sort of women he is accustomed to 
know ain't the sort that would bear comparison with 
her. 

Mrs. B. Sir ! I did not expect to be insulted. I will not 
submit to it. 

Dave. I beg your pardon, ma'am, but I didn't mean to 
insult you, any more than you intended to insult her by 
what you said. (About to go.) I guess there isn't 
much more to be said on the subject, so I'll ask you to 
excuse me. 

(^Hg has been l., now crosses to r., about to exit, Mrs. 
B. is c, Grace up l. c, beyond fence.) 

Mrs. B. One minute, please. I think there is something 
more to be said. You seem to be looking out for Miss 
Goodwin's happiness ; then you will do all you can to 
prevent her becoming the wife of Philip Burleigh. 

Dave (pausing, r.). What do you mean? 

Mrs. B. I mean that — well, what if he had to do some- 
thing to injure another woman, in order to win her? 
What if he were only using her for a plaything, as a 
passing fancy, and wouldn't hesitate to throw her over, 

32 



FABM FOL^S 

as he has others, perhaps, when another pretty face that 

pleases him came along? 
Grace. Mother ! How can you ? 
Mrs. B. Be still. This does not concern you. 

Grace. But, mother 

Mrs. B. (/o Dave, w/io has stood staring at her^ as if 

dazed). Well, sir, what then ? 
Dave. What then ? Why, if he treated her like that — if I 

had proof that he is that sort of man, and has only been 

playing with her— then — why, then, he would have to 

answer to me. 
Mrs. B. {a/ar?ned). To you? What do you mean? 

What would you do ? 
Dave. What should I do to a man like that, who isn't fit 

to live? Do? I'd kill him, that's what I'd do ! 

{Turns and exits r., rapidly, without looking back!) 

Mrs. B. (thoroughly frightened). I believe he means it. 
Oh, what have I done? [Starts r.) No, no, come 
back. It isn't true! He isn't that kind. {Comes 
back, in dismay.) Oh, dear, oh, dear, there is no say- 
ing what the crazy fellow will do. Oh, I shall faint ! 

Grace {coming down, hurriedly, assisting her). Mother, 
how could you talk so about Phil ? Why, if he knew 
it, he would never forgive you. 

Mrs. B. But he mustn't know. Don't you ever breathe a 
word of it. I meant it only for his good, and — oh, 
dear, I really do feel faint ! 

{Enter Delia, /r^w house, with her sleeves rolled up.) 

Delia. What's the matter? Anybody {Sees them and 

is overcome with awe.) Oh, my ! You must be Mis' 

Peasley's stylish boarders, ain't y' ? 
Grace. We are Mrs. Peasley's boarders, yes. But never 

mind who we are; get some water, please; ray mother 

is faint. 

{Exit Delia to house.) 

Mrs. B. There, there, never mind, I am all right. It was 
only for a moment. I never thought he would take it 
that way. 



Ji'AEJI FOLKS 

Grace. It seems to nie he wouldn't be much of a man if 
he took it any other way. 

Mrs. B. Grace ! Sometimes I ahiiost think you are be- 
ginning to share Phil's too democratic ideas of things. 
I suppose you would like to see him married to that 
girl? 

Grace. No, I wouldn't. But I expect to see it if you are 
not a little more diplomatic. 

(Delia rushes in with a glass of water down to Mrs. B., 
thrusting it into her face.) 

Delia. Here y' are. Sorry t' be so long, but I waited t' 
pump some fresh. 

Mrs. B. No, no, thanks, I don't need it now. Take it 
away. {Looks to see if any has been spilled upon her.') 

Delia. Got over it, have y ' ? {Takes hold of her dress 
and looks at it,feelingof the goods.) Hope I didn't git 
none on that nice dress. {She stands so that she can see 
off L. ; sees 'Bijah coming.) Here comes Mr. Finn. 
(Mrs. B. is r. , Grace l. c. , Delia up l. 'Bijah comes in, 
whistling, looking dow?t, not noticing the others ; co?nes 
down through gate. Delia goes to him, takes him by 
the arm and pulls him to one side.) 'Bijah Finn, you 
deef, dumb 'n' blind? Look who's here. 

'Bijah {looking up). Who? {Sees Mrs. B. ^;?^ Grace.) 
Gosh ! Some o' them big- bugs ! 

Mrs. B. {with a haughty glance at 'Bijah, theri ignoring 
him.) Come, Grace, we will be going. {To Delia.) 
I called to see Miss Goodwin, but as she is not at 
home 

Delia. She is at home, ma'am. Leastwise, she can't be 
fur off. Her ma's in the house. 

Mrs. B. I wished to see Miss Goodwin alone. 

'Bijah. Wal, guess I'll be gitt'n' along. (7^^ Mrs. B.) 
Don't s'pose y' got nothin' y' want done? 

Grace. Done? 

'Bijah. Mended 'r fixed, miss, 'r anything like that. I can 
do a fust-class job, whatever it is, fr'm puUin' a tooth 
t' fixin' a mowin' machine. 

Grace {laughing). Well, I don't happen to have any teeth 
that need fixing, and I don't own such a thing as a 
mowing machine, so I do not need your services. 

Mrs. B. Grace, come with me, this instant. {Goes off "L.) 

34 



FARM FOLKS 

Grace (to 'Bijah, dose to him). But I'll remember you, 

if I do. {Laughs and follows Mrs. B. off l.) 
'Bijah (looking after her, admiringly). Gosh, but she's 

purty. Real nice, too, ain't she ? 
Delia. Oh, I s'pose you're all took up with her, the way 

Flora Goodwin is with her brother. 
'Bijah. Oh, that's who it is, is it? 
Delia. Yes, it is; it's his mother 'n' sister. I s'pose I 

ain't in it any more. But y' needn't think I care, 'Biiah 

Finn. 

'Bijah. Huh! 'tain't style I'm after, n'r beauty. I'd ruther 

have you, any day. 
Delia. Thanks. Glad t' suit. But you don't suit me. 

See? {Moves over to steps.) It's a city feller I'm 

after, 'r none. If you don't want style 'n' beauty, I 

do, 'n' that bars you out. 

(^Exits to house, laughing disdainfully.) 

'Bijah {looking after her). Huh ! Guess I put m' foot in 
it, that time. 

{Enter Amos, r.) 

Amos. Hello, 'Bijah. What job y' doin' t'-day? 

'Bijah {turning). Oh, how are y', Mr. Goodwin? 'S jest 
goin' over t' Mis' Peasley's t' mend her clock. Was t' 
've done it b'fore, but got a job t' tune the church 
organ, ^ 'n' had t' put Mis' Peasley off. Say, them 
hifalutin women what board with her was jest here. 
Ain't they the limit f 'r style ? 

Amos. Here, was they ? Wonder what they wanted. 

'Bijah. Wanted t' see your Flora. Guess they'll be back. 
They jest walked up there a ways. {Goes up to gate.) 
Wal, I'll have t' git along over t' Mis' Peasley's. 
She'll have a fit 'f I don't git her clock mended so 't 
it'll go, seein' she don't never have a minute t' 
spare. {Goes.) 
Amos {calling after him). Say, 'Bijah, wa'n't they any 
mail for us ? 

'Bijah. No, they wa'n't. I looked in your box, but they 
wa'n't none. 

{Exit to R.) 

(Amos is about to go into house when Flora eriters r. i e.) 

35 



FAR 31 FOLKS 

Flora. Father. 

Amos (fuming, on steps). Oh, that you, little girl ? Been 
for a walk ? 

Flora. Yes. And, oh, father, I just met Mr. Finn, and 
he said there was no letter for me. What do you sup- 
pose is the reason ? 

Amos {down to c, near her). Mebbe it got lost, 'r de- 
layed. I wouldn't let it worry me. It's all right. 

Flora. But I should have had one yesterday, and now 
there is none to-day. I don't believe he wrote one. 
Oh, yes, I know he is busy, but that shouldn't make 
any difference. If he loved me as he pretended to, 
and thought of me as I do of him, he would neglect 
anything — everything — rather than disappoint me. 

Amos {with his arm about her). There, there, now, don't 
you go to imaginin' things. I guess he didn't have t* 
come here all the way from New York jest t' see you, 
'f he didn't love you 'n' mean it. 

Flora. Yes, he is good and true, I am sure of it, but — 
but — I am afraid of it all. It seems as if I don't dare 
believe in my own happiness. Something tells me it is 
too great to last, and that it will soon come to an end, 
like a beautiful dream. 

Amos. Come, now, don't you be so silly. It ain't treatin' 
him right t' think such things. You may be sorry for 
it, yet. 

Flora. I'm sorry already, and I won't be so foolish any 
more. I'll just be happy, for I know he loves me, and 
— oh, father, how I love him ! 

Amos. Of course y' do, and that's right. {Caressing her.) 
There, now, it's all right, and we ain't goin' t' fret an- 
other bit. Better come in the house now. It's 'most 
supper time. {Up steps. ) 

Flora. All right, father. I'll be in in a minute. (Goes 
up to gate ; he goes into house. She stands looking off 
to R., theti turns and looks l., starts, co?nes a short 
way down c, to l. c.) Oh ! — it is his mother — and 
his sister — and they are here. I don't want to meet 
them, I 

{She crosses to l., starts to go up steps, but is cojnpelled to 
pause, as Mrs. B. enters l., doivn through gate. She 
is followed by Grace, who pauses up c.) 

,36 



FARM FOLKS 

Mrs. B. I beg your pardon. Miss Goodwin, is it not ? 

Flora {coming down steps). Yes. 

Mrs. B. I am Mrs. Burleigh, and this is my daughter. 

(Flora bows ; Grace impulsively starts to come dowiiy as 
if to shake hands with her.) 

Grace. How do you do ? I am glad 



Mrs. B. {stepping between them). Grace, you will be kind 
enough to walk on. I wish to speak with Miss Good- 
win alone. 

Grace. Very well, mother; but I don't see {Looks 

at Mrs. B., who gives her a severe glance.) Yes, I'm 
going. {To Flora, as she goes up.) Good-after- 
noon, Miss Goodwin. I hope to see you again, soon. 

{Exit to R. Flora smiles faintly, with a polite recognition 
of her remarks.) 

(Mrs. B. is c. ; Flora, l. c, near porch.) 

Mrs. B. My son has spoken of you so often, Miss Good- 
win, that I feel as if we were already acquainted. 

Flora {somewhat confused). I — I am very glad to meet 
you, Mrs. Burleigh. Of course, Mr. Burleigh — Philip 
— has told you 

Mrs. B. Yes, he has told me. Miss Goodwin. I can 
readily understand how you have so easily become 
fascinated and dazzled by such an opportunity as his 
friendship seems to offer, but I feel that it is my duty, 
as his mother and one who wishes to prove herself a 
friend to you, to warn you. 

Flora. Warn me? Of what — against what? I don't 
understand. 

Mrs. B. I trust you will pardon me if I seem to speak 
plainly. I do what I know to be for the best. My 
dear, you are deluding yourself. You must know that 
my son can never make you his wife ; that, in his heart, 
he has no intentions of doing so. 

Flora. I will not believe that. He is too good, too true, 
to deceive me. How can you, his own mother, think 
him capable of such a thing? 

Mrs. B. Because, my dear Miss Goodwin, I know the 
world — life — men. I am sure you will agree with me, 
if you will look at the subject calmly, sensibly. Look 

37 



FAB3I FOLKS 

beyond the present, supposing he did mean it, and you 
became his wife. Suppose he does love you, in a way, 
because you are pretty, demure and sweet. But you 
are a country girl, with no idea of city life. What 
would you do as the wife of a rich city gentleman, such 
as my son? Think of yourself as the mistress of a 
house in which even the servants would know more 
about society and the ways of the world than you. 
Your husband at first might love you, but how long 
would it last ? Three months — six — a year, even. And 
then there would come a change. It would be but the 
inevitable result of such an unequal marriage. Believe 
me, my dear, it could mean but chagrin, disappoint- 
ment for him ; unhappiness, misery, even despair, for 
you. 

Flora (w/io has hung her head, covering her face with her 
hands). I feel that you are right — I have felt it, often. 
I have said the same things to Philip, but he would not 
listen to me. He says he loves me, that he will love 
and protect me always, that — oh, I don't know what to 
do, what to think ! (^Covers her face, weeping.) 

Mrs. B. You say you love my son, that you wish to make 
.him happy ? 

Flora. Yes, yes, I do love him. I would do anything to 
make him happy. 

Mrs. B. There is but one thing that you can do. 

Flora. And that is 

Mrs. B. To give him up. 

Flora. You don't know what you ask. No, no, I cannot 
do that. 

Mrs. B. So ! You do not love him, after all. It is only 
of yourself you are thinking. That is not real love. 
Miss Goodwin ; it is selfishness. If you wish to prove 
your love for my son, write him a letter, at once, tell- 
ing him that you will not be his wife, that you can 
never see him again. 

Flora. I could write the letter, Mrs. Burleigh ; I could 
tell him that, but he would not take me at my word. 
Your reasons are not new. He has persuaded me 
against them all. I might be willing to sacrifice my- 
self, but what about his sacrifice in giving me up ? 
What if he loves me too well to make that sacrifice ? 

Mrs. B. Keep him at a distance for a time, and his in- 

38 



FARM FOLKS 

fatualion — for that is all it is — will wear off. You may 
flatter yourself it is love ; I know it is not. You can 
end it, if you will. 
Flora (s/ie has become bolder afid speaks with more as- 
surance). I want to do what is right, Mrs. Burleigh, 
and I want to prove that my love for Philip is sincere 
and unselfish. But I cannot do what you ask. 
Mrs. B. Very well. I had thought to spare you, to make 
it easier. I see, however, that you must hear some- 
thing I hoped I should not be obliged to tell you. But 
you must not blame me. You have brought it upon 
yourself. 
Flora. Why, what is it? What — do — you mean? 
Mrs. B. (takifig a letter fro??i her hand-bag). Miss Good- 
win, I said 1 had hoped to spare you ; I wished also to 
spare myself, for it pains me to say what I have to say 
as much as it will you to hear it. But it must be said, 
for your sake. 
Flora. What do you mean ? 

Mrs. B. I mean this : My son, as I have said before, is a 
man of the world. He is a man who attracts women, 
and you cannot be foolish enough to think you are the 
first woman he has attracted. What if I tell you that 
there have been others — are others — who have heard 
the same words he has spoken to you, who love him, 
and who believe that he loves them and is true to them 
alone ? 
Flora {facing her proudly). Mrs. Burleigh, even if you, 

his own mother, told me that, I would not believe it. 
Mrs. B. And I would not expect you to do so, on my word 
alone. {Shoivs her a part of letter.) Miss Goodwin, 
do you recognize that handwriting ? 
Flora. It is Philip's. 

Mrs. B. Look closely. You are sure it is his ? 
Flora. Yes, Mrs. Burleigh. 

Mrs. B. Very well. Then listen to these words. {Reads.) 
"Surely, mother, she is not foolish enough to think I 
ever meant to marry her. Of course, I paid her some 
attention, and her own foolishness may have led her to 
think that I was in earnest. If she took it too much to 
heart, I am sorry, as I was only amusing myself, but 

she will get over it " 

Flora. It cannot be. He is not such a man as that. 

39 



FA EM FOLKS 

Mrs. B. My dear, you do not know men — men who live 
in the world, who are fascinating, rich, and who admire 
women of their own sphere, who seek their admiration. 
It is an old story, but in hearing it now, you are sparing 
yourself much suffering in the future. 

Flora. But it is not true. He did not write those words 
— he didn't refer to me. Tell me — it isn't true. 

Mrs. B. Your own heart tells you that it is true. Now will 
you write that letter ? 

Flora. You tell me it is true — that he meant me? 

Mrs. B. Whom else ? Could 1 tell you, expose my own 
son's insincerity, if it were not? Do you imagine it 
causes me no suffering to acknowledge his fault, even 
to save you ? 

Flora. Then he does not love me, I am nothing to him. 
He has deceived me, and I ( IVU/i suddeti dig- 
nity and determination?) Let me see that letter. If 
he wrote those words, and they refer to me, I will never 
see him again. 

{She see?ns to have lost all her aive of Mrs. B., goes to her 
and demands the letter. Mrs. B. shows her the page y 
but does not release her hold on the paper?) 

Mrs. B. See ? there it is, your name — Flora Goodwin. 
Flora. Yes, yes, I see it — my name. It is true — true ! 

How dare he do such a thing ? Does he think I am a 

fool, a plaything, to amuse him for a little while and 

then be cast aside, when he is ready to go back to his 

grand ladies? 
Mrs. B. {overjoyed, hut cleverly concealing her satisfaction). 

You will write to him, telling him that you wish never 

to see him again ? 
Flora. Yes. 
Mrs. B. But you must never let him know what has passed 

between us, what I have told you. For my sake, who 

have tried to save you, you must not. 
Flora. He shall never know it from me. 
Mrs. B. You promise? 
Flora {in desperation^. Yes, I promise anything you wish. 

Only go, leave me ; I can't stand any more. 

{She turns away, going toward house, burying her face in 
hands, Mrs. B. goes up, with a look of triumph at 
40 



FARM FOLKS 

Flora, who does not notice her, as she goes out to L. 
As she disappears, Flora sinks down on steps, sob- 
bing. After a slight pause, Dave enters r. He has a 
letter in his lumd. He sees Flora, advances, as if 
about to offer her the letter y then changes his mind and 
holds it behind him.) 

Dave. Flora. 

Flora {looking up, then rising, glancing at him irresolutely ^ 
suddenly burstifig out). Oh, Dave, Dave, he is a vil- 
lain, he doesn't love me; he was only amusing himself 
with me, and I shall never see him again. 

Dave. Why, Flora, what do you mean? What has he 
done ? How do you know ? 

Flora. Never mind ; I do know, and I am through with 
him. He didn't write, as he promised, and— oh, I 
can't tell you, but I know— I know ! (Dave slips the 
letter into his pocket.) Oh, Dave, can you forgive me, 
can you still love me, as you said you did ? If you 
can 

Dave. Flora ! You mean 



Flora. Yes, Dave, yes. You are good, you are true; 1 

can trust you, and I want you to take me. Can you, 

Dave, — will you ? 
Dave. Flora, — do you mean it ? You love me, you will be 

mine ? 
Flora. I will be yours — you shall make me love you — you 

are worthy of me and I — oh, Dave ! Dave ! 

{She breaks down, crying hysterically ; he takes her in his 
arms, embracing her tenderly, her head on his shoulder.) 



CURTAIN 



41 



ACT III 

SCENE. — Parlor or receptio?i-room in the Burleigh resi- 
defice, New York; an elegant apartment, beautifully 
furnished. It is late in the afternoon. Discover GuACt:, 
seated on sofa l., with lie r feet 07i a chair, readiii'^. 
Thompson stands c, stiffly, looking straight ahead. 

Grace (after a pause, looking up from her book). Well, 
Thompson ? 

Thompson. I beg pardon, miss, but I was sent to remind 
you that it is nearly six, miss, and time to dress for 
dinner. 

Grace. Oh, all right. Just as soon as I finish this chap- 
ter. Seems so I never have any peace. It's always 
dress for this, or for that, or get fixed up for something 
or other. {She notices that he is looking at her feet.') 
Goodness me, Thompson, what are you looking at — my 
feet? I suppose you're shocked ? 

Thompson. I was only thinking, miss, that if Mrs. Bur- 
leigh 

Grace. Oh, yes, I'd catch it — I know. But don't you 
mind. I declare, I get so sick and tired of being ele- 
gant and proper all the time, that sometimes I'm tempted 
to do something dreadful to relieve the monotony. But 
you needn't look so horrified, Thompson, I don't intend 
to do it just yet. You may go now. 

Thompson. Yes, miss. (Goes up.) 

Grace. Oh, Thompson; how is my brother to-day? 

Thompson. Much better, miss. He was out for a ride 
this afternoon, and has been lying down since his re- 
turn. He informed me that he would be down to din- 
ner, miss. 

Grace. That's good. 

{E?iter Phh^ip, r., in evefiing dress. He is rather pale and 
seems someivhat weak.) 

Thompson. Here he is now, miss. 

(Goes to Philip and offers to assist him.) 

42 



FAiiJl FOLKS 

Philip. No, thank you, Thompson. I'm all right. Hello, 
sis, — here's your big brother, almost like himself again. 

(^.a;// Thompson, c. d. l.) 

Grace {throwijig down her book and jzimping up). How 
glad I am, Phil, dear. (^Fiits up her arms ; he kisses 
her.) You don't know how lonesome it has been, with 
you ill all this time. 

Philip {sitting r. c). Maybe it hasn't been hard for me, 
lying there in bed, when there was so much to do and 
so many things to worry about. 

Grace. I suppose you are unhappy, Phil, dear, about — 
well, I don't like to mention it, but you know what I 
mean. 

Philip. You may mention it, little one. In fact, it is the 
very thing I want to talk about with you. It is a great 
mystery to me, you know, and I want you to tell me 
just what happened while you were there, and what 
reason you think she had for breaking our engagement 
and refusing to have anything more to do with me. 
There is something that I know nothing about, and we 
must get at the bottom of it, Grace, you and I. 

{She stands behind his chair , leaning over^ with her arms 
around his neck.) 

Grace. I'm afraid I can't help you much, you poor boy. 
I saw very little of Miss Goodwin and did not hold any 
conversation with her. But mother 

Philip. Ah, but mother — Grace, perhaps I ought not to 
say it, or even think it, but I can't help beheving that 
mother was the cause of it all. You know, she was 
very much against my marriage with Miss Goodwin, 
and could not give up hoping that I would make Helen 
Blake my wife. 

Grace {sitting on floor or stool at his feet, with her arms 
on his knee). I don't blame you for not wanting to 
marry Helen Blake. I can't bear her. But you know 
how she has run after you, and tried to make people 
think you were going to get married, and mother helped 
it along. I'd ten times rather have you marry Flora 
Goodwin, if she isn't anything but a country girl. 

Philip. Thank you, dear. {Stoops and kisses her.) But 
such a dear, sweet little country girl, and all the better 

43 



FAEM FOLKS 

for being what she is. Why, in comparison to Helen 
Blake — but there is no comparison. 

Grace. I should say not, such a flirt as she is. She's 
always after some man, and when it comes to such a 
catch as you are, I guess she wasn't going to lose a 
trick if she could help it. Of course, she's good 
family, and in our set, and all that, with money of her 
own, so mother's crazy for you to have her. But I 
don't blame you for rebelling, Phil. I would, too. 

Philip. But that doesn't explain why Flora wrote me that 
letter, saying she would never see me again, and then 
returned all my letters unopened. If I had been able 
to go there at once, it might have been different, but 
overwork and the heat played me out, and here I have 
been sick for weeks, with not even the strength to write 
a letter. Ah, but fate plays a fellow some mean tricks ! 

Grace. Yes, Phil ; but somebody generally helps fate 
along. [Looks about^ cautiously.) I don't suppose I 
ought to say it — mother would just about kill me, — 
but — well, I really do lay it to her. I saw enough to 
make me think she is at the bottom of the whole thing. 
I am so sorry, Phil, dear, — about it all. Don't you 
think you will ever — m'm — fix it up ? 

Philip {as they go tip c). I shall try. There has been 
some misunderstanding, and if mother — well, let us 
hope it is not too late. By the way, I saw somebody 
from there to-day. 

Grace. Why, Phil, who ? 

Philip. Do you remember Mr. Finn ? 

Grace. Mr. Finn. M'm — let me see : Mr. Finn. Why, 
wasn't he the man who could do so many different 
things ? 

Philip. The very man. Well, I saw him and his wife. 

Grace. His wife ? 

Philip. Yes. They are on their honeymoon — ^just married 
— and when I went into the store to-day, for the first 
time in weeks, who should I run into but them? 
They'll be here to dinner. 

Grace. Phil ! to dinner ? Have you told mother ? 

Philip. No. I thought it would be safer to take her by 
surprise. I don't know as she'll fancy having 'Bijah 
Finn and his wife, who was Delia Slocum, Mr. Good- 
win's ** hired girl," visit us. 

44 



FARM FOLKS 

Grace. Mercy, no ! You're in for it. I don't see how 
you ever dared do such a thing. Mother will raise an 
awful row. 

Philip. I guess she'll survive. I had to have a little 
pleasure, after being shut up so long, and I thought it 
would be a real treat to give Mr. and Mrs. Finn a good 
time. Will you help me, dear ? 

Grace. Of course 1 will, and love to, unless mother 

Philip. Oh, you leave her to me. Hurry up, now, and 
get dressed. They may be here any minute, and I 
want you to be as nice to them as you can. We must 
show them what real life in New York is like. 

Grace. All right. It'll be heaps of fun. Only, mother 

Philip. There, there, little 'fraid-cat, run along. I'll take 
the whipping. 

Grace (adouf to go, looks off to r.). Oh ! Be careful, 
Phil ; here she is now. 

{She runs off, c. d. r., ^j- Mrs. B., in an elaborate dinner- 
gown, enters R. Philip is l. c. ; she comes to c.) 

Mrs. B. Ah, here you are, Phil. How delightful to have 
you about again. 

Philip. Yes, mother, it is very delightful to me. My ill- 
ness has been a great trial, though I have tried to bear 
it patiently. It has robbed me of that which made life 
most dear. 

Mrs. B. Why, yes, Philip, of course, it — it has seriously 
interfered with your business, and with our vacation 
plans, but I doubt if it has resulted in any great loss. 

Philip. It is not a financial loss to which I referred. 
Money is not everything in this world, nor is name, 
position, or success of any kind. There is such a 
thing as love, mother, and life is not worth living when 
one loses that which he loves most dearly. 

{They are sitting, she r., he l. c.) 

Mrs. B. Why, of course, and I — I hope to see you made 

very happy by love and 

Philip. I was in love, I was happy, I thought I had all 

that life needed to make my happiness complete, and 

then, all at once, while I was lying sick and helpless, it 

was taken from me. 

45 



FAE3T FOLKS 

Mrs. B. (rising). Philip, how foolishly you talk. I am 
sure all that has happened is for the best, and will 
prove to be for your happiness. 

Philip (rising and going to her). Mother, do you really 
believe that ? 

IMrs. B. {trying to avoid him y about to go up c). Why, of 
course I do. It is nearly time dinner was served. I 
must go. 

Philip. No ; stay here, please, and listen to me. 

Mrs. B. What do you mean ? 

Philip. I mean, mother, that I think it is time we had a 
serious talk and came to an understanding. Sit down, 
please. 

Mrs. B. But I (^He motions to a chair, c. ; she looks 

at him as if puzzled, half friglitened, and sits.) Fm 
sure, Philip, 1 don't see why you should act like this. 
I hope your illness has not affected your brain. 

Philip (going to other side of table, r., sitting, ajid leaning 
over it with his arms across table, looking straight at 
her). Mother, I am going to ask you a question. 1 
want you to answer it truthfully. 

Mrs. B. My son ! 

Philip. Pardon me; I mean candidly. I do not wish to 
be disrespectful, nor to seem severe, but there are times 
when a man has a right to demand the truth, even from 
his own mother. 

Mrs. B. Philip ! Do you mean to- say that I have ever 
told you anything but the truth ? 

Philip. No, mother, by no means ; but I mean that what 
I want now is the truth — the facts, rather, without con- 
cealment. What I wish to know is this : Did you see 
Flora Goodwin after I left Mapleville? 

Mrs. B. Why — yes; I believe I saw her once or twice. 

Philip. You called to see her? 

Mrs. B. I was passing the place and — stopped in. 

Philip. And you saw her alone ? 

Mrs. B. N-no — Grace was with me. 

Philip. But not all the time. Did you not see Miss Good- 
win alone ? 

Mrs. B. Perhaps so, for a very few minutes. Really, 
Philip, you must excuse me. It is nearly time for 
dinner, and I have no more time to spare. 

[Rises, about to go.) 
46 



FAB3I FOLKS 

Philip (rising). Wait, please. I have one more question 
to ask you. It is this— did you do or say anything to 
influence Flora Goodwin against me — to cause her to 
give me up ? 

Mrs. B. Philip ! you are going too far. I refuse to sub- 
mit to any more of this cross questioning. You seem 
to forget that 1 am your mother, and that you have no 
right to speak to me like this. 

Philip. No, I do not forget that you are my mother, 
neither do I forget that I am a man, and that no one, 
not even my mother, has a right to interfere and take 
from me that which is dearest in life. Forgive me, if 
I seem severe or accuse you wrongfully, but I am con- 
vinced that you have done this cruel thing. Now, 
there is one thing more for you to do. 

Mbs. B. How dare you say such things to me — you, my 
son ? To think that you should make me the subject 
of such accusations, such indignities. If you have no 
love for me, where is your filial respect, your common 
courtesy? 

(S'le is about to exit c, but Philip has gone up and now 
bars her way.~) 

Philip. One thing, mother. . You must go to Flora Good- 
win, retract all you said to her and tell her that there 
is no reason why she may not become my wife. 

Mrs. B. Never ! Are you crazy ? Never — never would 
I so humiliate myself 1 I think we have nothing more 
to say. 

Philip. But I have this to say — unless you do this — unless 
you do all in your power to undo what you have done, 
I shall leave your home and be no longer your son. 

Mrs. B. You— you mean {At first appearing to be 

frightened at his zvords, but recovering herself.') If 
you think to coerce me by threats, you will find it use- 
less. If you have not lost your mind, you must realize 
that what you are saying is most ridiculous. 

Philip. What I say I mean, and you know me well 
enough to know that I will abide by it. Take your 
choice. 

Mrs. B. Philip 

iShe 710W begins to realize that she has gone too far, and 

47 



FAIi3I FOLKS 

stops y looking at him intently , as if in hopes of seeing 
him relent. He turns from her and goes down to 
R. C. She is about to go to him, stretching out her 
hands pleadingly, when 1 hompson enters c. D. l. As 
he speaks y Mrs. B. pauses a?id turns to him, Philip 
does not look around.') 

Thompson. I beg pardon. 

Mus. B. Well, Thompson? 

Thompson. There are callers, ma'am. 

Mrs. B. Callers? At this time of day? Who are they? 

Thompson. It was Mr. Burleigh they asked for. They 

seem to be from the country. *' Finn," I think, is the 

name. 
Mrs. B. Finn ? To see you, Philip ? 
Philip. Yes. It is 'Bijah Finn and his bride, from Maple- 

ville. I believe they are on their wedding tour. 
Mrs. B. But what are they doing here — in our house? 
Philip. Why, I ran across them down-town this afternoon 

and asked them to come and visit us. Bring them 

right up, Thompson. 
Thompson. Yes, sir. 

{Exit, c. D. L.) 

Mrs. B. Philip, how could you ? I remember now— that 
terrible, uncouth creature who came to mend Mrs. 
Peasley's clock? And who is his bride, pray? 

Philip. Why, she was Miss Delia Slocum, Mr. Goodwin's 
hired girl. 

Mrs. B. Hired girl ! Here— to stay with us ! Really, 
Philip, you go too far. I cannot consent to have those 
people here, to humiliate me before the servants. 
Fortunately, we have no guests, but I — no, you must 
tell them that it is not convenient for us to entertain 
them. 

Philip. But it is, quite convenient, I am sure. 

{She turns ^away haughtily, going down r. ; he goes up to 
C. D., meets Delia, who enters froin l.) 

Delia. Here we are, Mr. Burleigh, safe and sound. 

Lucky, I guess, considerin'. 
Philip {shaking hands with her, cordially). Glad to see 

you, Miss Slocum. 

48 



FAEM FOLKS 

Delia. Slocum? 

Philip. Pardon me. I mean ''Mrs. Finn," to be sure. 

Where's your husband ? 
Delia {looking off). Here he comes. {Enter 'Bijah.) 

'Bijah, here's Mr. Burleigh. 
'Bijah. How d' do ? Glad t' see y'. 

{He and Philip shake hands.") 

Philip. And I am glad to see you, Mr. Finn. So glad I 

happened to run across you. 
'Bijah. So 'm I. You ain't th' only one. Seems t' me 

half the folks in New York tried t' run across us, the 

way we had t' dodge. Great place, ain't it? 
Philip. Yes, New York is quite a village. Come, I want 

you to meet my mother. Mother ! 

{He goes down, so that Mrs. B. is compelled to turn and 
notice them. Delia, who has been up stage, lookitig 
about, flow comes down.) 

'Bijah {going up to Mrs. B. and offering his hand). How 
d* do? Glad t' meet y', mum. {She ignores him, 
after a slight bow. He looks surprised, but motions 
to Delia to come to him, which she does.) Let me in- 
terduce my wife, Mrs. Finn. I guess you've seen her 
b'fore, there 't Goodwin's, where she used t' work. 

Mrs. B. {bowing, very coldly). How do you do? 

Delia. Pretty well, thank y'. Guess you ain't none too 
glad t' see us, leastwise, y' ain't jumpin' f r joy. Wal, 
I s'pose 'tis a bother, havin' folks come in so, jest at 
meal time. But I don't want y' t' make a difference 
f'r us. Jest whatever y' happen t' have 's good enough 
for us. Ain't it, 'Bijah? 

'Bijah, Sure, it is. Don't go t' no trouble f'r us, ma'am, 
even if we be a newly-married bridal couple on our 
wedd'n' tower. We don't wish t' make no trouble, 'n' 
b' sides {taking a small kit of tools from his pocket) 
I brought some tools along, so 'f they's anything y' 
want fixed, why, jest trot it out. Got anything out of 
order ? 

Mrs. B. No, thank you, I have not. 

'Bijah. Don't make no difference what 'tis, I cal'late I c'n 
fix it — from mending some o' y'r fancy bricky-bracky 

49 



FAE3I FOLKS 

to fixin' y'r kitchen pump. Jest 's lieves 's not, 
ma'am, and it 'd kind o' make me feel 's if we was 
a-payin' our way. 

Delia. Land, 'Bijah, ain't you got no sense ? I guess 
sech rich folks 's they be don't want no pay, when 
we're invited. (To Mrs. B.) You must excuse him, 
ma'am, but he means well. I s'pose you wonder how 
I happened t' take him, after hangin' off s' long 

Mrs. B. (going up, very haughtily). Really, I have never 
given the subject a thouglit. 

Delia. Wal, y' see, he pestered me most t' death, poppin' 
the question every time we met, 'n' I jest had t' take 
him t' get red of him. Of course, I meant t' have him 
all the time, but it don't do t' let a man know you're 
too willin'. Does it, ma'am? 

Mrs. B. {iti c. d.). I beg you will excuse me from further 
conversation. 

(Exit.-) 

Delia. M-my ! ain't she frigid ? 

'Bijah. Wal, I d' know — I guess we ain't jest her style. 

Philip {who has appeared slightly annoyed, but assuming a 
cheerful fnood). Never mind. Sit down, and tell me 
all about your trip. About your wedding, rather, and 
things at Mapleville. 

('Bijah and Delia sit on sofa, l. ; Philip c.) 

'Bijah. Wal, y' see, I won her. Guess, after doin' s' many 
jobs, 'n' doin' 'em well, 1 wa'n't go'n' t' fall up on a lit- 
tle thing like gitt'n' a wife. 

Delia. I guess it wa'n't so easy, when y' come right down 
to it. I guess you've had easier jobs. Y' see, Mr. 
Burleigh, it was this way : 'Bijah said he'd bring me to 
the city 'n' all, 'f I'd have him, and that was an induce- 
ment 't I couldn't hold out ag'inst. So I took him, 'n' 
here we be. 

'Bijah. But it's permanent, Delia. I ain't go'n' t' be 
shook. 

Delia. I guess I know that. I'm willin' t' make the best 
of it. We're goin' t' keep house, when we git back t' 
Mapleville. We've took the Spencer place, right next 
t' Goodwin's. 

50 



FAB3I FOLKS 

Philip. Is that so? The place with the red barns? 
'BijAH. That's it. Kind o' run down, but I mean t* fix it 
up. Y' know, I'm pretty handy. 

('BijAH rises as he speaks atid goes over to clock on mantel, 
R. He takes out his tools and tightens up a screw or 
two in the clock. During following co?iversaiion he 
walks about room handling fur niture, etc., and show- 
ing by his motions that he finds loose parts that should 
be repaired, etc.) 

Philip. Yes, I know. But, tell me — how are things at — 
at Mr. Goodwin's? 

'BijAH. Go'n' t' be a wedd'n' there this fall. 

Philip. A wedding ? Why, who 

Delia. Land, 'Bijah, ain't you got no sense, blurtin' it 
right out, like that? Can't y' see it's a shock to him? 
It's Flora, Mr. Burleigh, and Dave Weston. 

Philip {rising). She — she is going to marry him ? 

Delia. Yes, she is. Y' see, she Wal, the fact is, 

folks said you'd only been arausin' y'rself with her, *n' 
threw her over, 'n' something made her believe it, and 
so she took Dave. Y' know, they'd been as good 's 
engaged b'fore you come along, so folks said, 'n' they 
thought it was real noble of Dave t' be willin' t' take 
her back, after she'd been treated the way she had, and 
the way she'd treated him. But I never believed it of 
y*, never, n'r 'Bijah didn't. Did y', 'Bijah ? 

'Bijah. No, I didn't. I always said they was some mis- 
take, 'n' 't you'd ought t' had a chance t' explain. But 
Flora stuck to it 't she had proofs — seen 'em with her 
own eyes, she said, 'n' Dave swore he'd kill you 'f you 
ever come 'round there ag'in, 'n' so they give it out 
that they was engaged. 

Philip. My friends, I wish to thank you for saying that you 
believe in me. There has been a mistake — a terrible 
mistake. I wrote to Miss Goodwin several times, but 
my letters came back unopened. I was ill for several 
weeks, and have not been able to take the journey or I 
should have gone to her and demanded the truth. 

'Bijah {risifig and giving Philip his hand). I do believe 
y', Mr. Burleigh, 'n' I always did. 

Delia {following his example). And so do I. 

Philip. Thank you. 

51 



FAE3I FOLKS 

(^Enter Grace, c. d. r., in a fuijidsome evening dress.) 

Grace. Oh, how do you do ? Mr. and Mrs. Finn, I 
believe ? 

'BijAH. That's us. 

Grace {shaking hands with them, cordially). How nice of 
you to come and see us. I hope you are having a 
pleasant time in New York? 

Delia. If we ain't, it ain't Mr. Finn's fault, I'll say that 
for him. I declare, he don't seem t* care how much 
he spends. 

'BijAH. Wal, a feller don't git married every day. 

Philip. That's the way to look at it. 

Delia. I s'pose it is, but he jest wants t' take in every- 
thing, 'n' I tell him he ain't made of money. (^To 
Grace.) Excuse me, but that's an awful pretty dress 
you've got on. 

Grace {smiling). Do you like it? 

Delia. I should say so. I suppose you had a dressmaker 
make it ? 

Grace. Yes. 

Delia. For my part, I make all my own. Mis' Peasley 
goes out sewin' in the winter time, when she ain't got 
no boarders, and she's a real good hand, but I call it 
extravagant payin* a dollar 'n' a half a day f'r what 
you can do y'rself. But, then, you can afford it. I 
made this one, 'n' the one I was married in, too. 
Everybuddy said it looked real nice, though Mis' Peas- 
ley, of course, said she could 'a' give me a better fit. 
But I told 'Bijah it was me he was marryin', not what 
I had on, 'n' 'f he didn't like me the way I was, he 
could git somebuddy else. I thought it looked real 
nice, though, and wa'n't a mite ashamed of it. {Looks 
about.') My, but it's fixed up real nice here, ain't it? 
This your best room ? 

{They are sitting l. ; Philip atid 'Bijah are up r., convers- 
ing in pafitomime. ) 

Grace. This is one of the parlors. 

Delia. Now, think of that — two parlors ! But, then, I 

s'pose you can afford it. It must be nice t' be rich. 
Grace. Y-yes, but money isn't everything. It will not 

buy happiness. 

52 



FAB3I FOLKS 

Delia. I guess that's so, 'n' it's a good thing. If it could, 
there wouldn't be none left for poor folks. ( Carefully, 
lookiiig toiuard Philip.) Say, 1 feel awful sorry about 
your brother and Flora Goodwin. It 'most killed her, 
when he never wrote 'r come back, 'n' when she had t' 
own that he'd deserted her, we thought — wal, if Dave 
Weston hadn't stepped in, I guess she 'a' give right up. 
They're goin' t' be married. 

Grace. Flora Goodwin ? 

Delia. Yes, and Dave Weston. 

Grace {rising). Oh ! Does he know — my brother? 

Delia. Yes. We let it out. 

Grace. My poor brother. 

Philip (coming down, followed by '^i]kyC). Grace, perhaps 
Mr. and Mrs. Finn would like to go to their room be- 
fore dinner. 

Delia. Room ? Land, we ain't goin' t' stay here all night, 
be we? 

Philip. Oh, yes, you are ; as many nights as you are in 
New York. 

Delia. I'm afraid it'll put you out. 

Grace. Not in the least. I will call Thompson. 

{Touches bell button.) 

'Bijah. Wal, I s'pose I had better wash m' hands b'fore I 

eat supper, but they ain't no use goin* 'way up-stairs. 

Can't I step right int' the kitchen 'n' use the sink? 
Philip (smiling). No, I think you'd better go up to your 

room. {Enter Thompson, c. d. l.) Thompson, show 

Mr. and Mrs. Finn to the blue room. 
Thompson. Yes, sir. This way, please. 

{Offers to take the satchel from 'Bijah.) 

'Bijah (giving it to him). Much obliged, Mr. Thompson. 
{Exit Thompson, c. d.) Come on, Delia, you'd 
better comb y'r hair 'n' fix up a little. 

Delia. I s'pose I had. I don't feel none too neat, the way 
you get pushed 'n' hauled every which way in New 
York. {Going.) I'll put on m' other waist. (To 
Grace.) Y' see, I didn't bring any other skirt, jest an 
extry shirt-waist, not bringing no trunk, 'n' havin' no 
expectations of goin' out in society. 'F I had, I'd 'a' 

53 



FABM FOLKS 

brung m' weddia' dress. That's real stylish, *f I do 
say so. They wrote it up in "The County Banner" 
when they told about the wechl'n'. Said the bride was 
"attired in white," and ail like that — meanin' me. 
But, dear me, I don't s'pose it'd amount t' much here 
where they's s' much style, 'n' all, would it? 

Grace. Oh, I dare say it is very nice, but you won't need 
it. 

'BijAH. That's jest what I told her. Ain't no use putt'n' 
on airs, 1 says, jest b'cause y've got t' be Mrs. Finn. 

(^Exit Q, D. L., laughing.') 

Delia. The idee ! As if he was some grand ketch. H'm ! 

(^Exit after him, with a toss of her head, and a prete7ision 
of disdain.) 

Grace {going to Philip, who sinks disconsolately into a 
chair, r. c). Oh, Phil, dear, I am so sorry ! Do you 
think it is too late ? 

{He simply 7iods his head, without looking up ; she goes out 
C. D. L. After a pause, he rises, goes and looks off 
C. D. L. for a 7?io?nent, then turns to go out R., but 
7?ieets Mrs. B. and retnains.) 

Mrs. B. Where are those people ? 

Philip. Do you mean my guests, mother ? 

Mrs. B. You know whom I mean. Where are they ? 

Philip. I have had them shown to the blue room, to pre- 
pare themselves for dinner. Mr. Finn wanted to wash 
his hands, and Mrs. Finn said she would change her 
shirt-waist. 

Mrs. B. Philip, I am surprised that you have lost all re- 
gard and respect for me, if you have none for yourself. 
Surely, you do not think I am going to tolerate those 
people in my house ? If you do, you are very much 
mistaken. I shall have my dinner sent to my room, 
and I refuse to meet them again. {Goes R.) 

Philip. Mother — wait. 

Mrs. B. {turning). Well ? Will you tell them 

Philip. Never mind those people. You tell me — tell me 
by what means you did — what you did. 

Mrs. B. Why, Philip, — what do you mean ? 

54 



FAB3f FOLKS 

Philip. You know. Tell me. 

Mrs. B. You have no right to speak to me like this. I 
am your mother. 

Philip. But I am not your son, if you refuse to do all in 
your power to right this great wrong. 

Mrs. B. But it is too late — she is 

Philip. It is not too late to prove my manhood and my 
honesty. It is not too laie to show that you are not 
utterly devoid of a mother's love and sympathy. 

Mrs. B. I did it for your good — 1 knew it would be for 
the best 

Philip. But what — what did you do ? What did you say? 

Mrs. B. My son, you mustn't look at me like that — you 
frighten me. I — I thought the end justified the means, 
and I told her you had only been flirting with her for 
a little summer amusement; that you were engaged to 
— to another — and that 

Philip. And she believed you ? 

Mrs. B. Y-yes — she believed it. Her own heart told 
her 

Philip. Her own heart told her that I was true, that never 
in the world would I so deceive her. No, mother, 
there was more than that, there must have been. I 
want the whole truth. 

Mrs. B. Oh, my son, forgive me, I — I did not think you 
would take it so seriously. I thought — don't look at 
me so ! Don't make me think I have committed some 
dreadful crime, when I only meant to save you, to 
ensure your future happiness. 

Philip. What did you do ? 

Mrs. B. I — showed her the letter you wrote me, in which 
you referred to Helen Blake. You said that she had 
deceived herself — misunderstood your attentions — that 
you had no thought of marrying her, and that you were 
not to blame for her foolishness. I — oh, will you never 
forgive me, Philip? Don't forget I am your mother, 
and that it was pride, ambition, that prompted me. 

Philip. You showed her that letter, and made her think 
that it referred to her ? 

Mrs. B. Yes. I — I erased Helen Blake's name and wrote 
hers in its place. It was easy. The letter she expected 
from you did not arrive, and everything worked into 
my hands. 

55 



FARM FOLKS 

Philip. But I wrote. Why did she not receive my letter? 
Mrs. B. I do not know. Don't lay that to me; I am not 

guilty of that too. 
Philip. Yes, it worked well, and she believes me base and 

false. How slie must despise me. ( IFi^/i a suddeti 

flash of anger, which he quickly suppresses.) And 

you — you, my mother — did this thing ! You — oh, 

mother, how could you ? 
Mrs. B. (^going up to hi?n, putting her hand ofi his arm). I 

thought 

Philip {shaking her off, not roughly, but as if her touch 

pained him). Don't — don't speak to me — not yet ! 
Mrs. B. {brokenly). I — I did not think you would take it 

like this. I'll go to her, if 

Philip (with bitter sadness). It is too late, mother. Your 

work was well done. I have just learned she is to 

marry another man. Oh, go, won't you ? Leave me, 

or I can't bear it. 

(Grace, 'Bijah and Delia are heard off l,, talking and 
laughing. Mrs. B, glances in that direction, at first 
haughtily, then turns and looks at Philip, softening, 
goes up and exits sloivly to r. Philip sinks into chair, 
R. c, burying his face in his hands. The laughter 
outside continues as the curtain falls.) 



CURTAIN 



56 



ACT IV 

SCENE. — Sitting-room at Silverbrook Farm, coiiifortably 
but plainly furnished, after the style of well-to-do 
cou?itry people. Before the curtain rises the wedding 
march frojn ' ' Lohengrin ' ' is heard being played on a 
cabinet organ, off stage. Discover Mrs. P., busily 
sewing, i?i a rocki?ig-chair, L. She is working on a 
dress of some dark material, nearly completed, and 
rocks continually as she sews. Delia stands r. c, 
scanning a cook-book. 

Delia {looking over at Mrs. P.). Land, Mis' Peasley, I 
don't see how you can sew, when you rock so. 

Mrs. P. Always do. I can work better. Kind o' jogs me 
along. I always said rockin'-chairs was made t' rock 
in, else they wouldn't 'a' had no rockers. 

Delia. All is, I couldn't sew 'n' rock too. I guess it 
would make my sevvin' kind o' rocky. My, but this 
wedd'n' cake takes a lot of eggs. 

Mrs. p. {the organ 7nusic having continued). Listen t' 
Sate Miller playin' that piece. She's practicin' it for 
'em t' march in by, at the wedd'n'. 

Delia {sitting r., still readi?ig). For my part, seems t' 
me a dirge 'd be more appropriate. 

Mrs. p. My goodness, Delia Slocum, how c'n you say 
sech things? 1 guess the Goodwins wouldn't thank 
you, 'f they was t' hear it. {The music stops.') There, 
she's stopped. She comes over here t' practice it on 
their organ. Sate's quite a musician. But dirge ! 
And a wedd'n' comin' off t'-morrow. Wal, I must 
say, Delia Slocum 

Delia. Slocum ? I guess I ain't a widow yet, n'r got any 
divorce. You seem t' f'rgit Pve marched t' that same 
tune. 

Mrs. p. Land, Delia— Mis' Finn— I beg y'r pardon. But, 
somehow, you don't seem no more married 'n you used 
t', 'n' I sort o' f'rgit. 'N' there you went on a tower, 
too, all the way t' New York. I guess you seen enough 
there t' fill a book. 

57 



FA EM FOLKS 

Delia. I guess we did. 1 don't s'pose 'Bijah'll ever git 
through talkiii' about it. 'Most every buddy he knows 
's got so they run when they see him comin', f r fear 
he'll tell 'em somethin' about New York. It's jest like 
them that went to the world's fair. After they'd been 
back a spell, you might 'a' thought they had the mumps 
'r smallpox, the way they was got away from. 1 tell 
'Bijah, but it don't make any difference. For my part, 
I wait till I'm asked. 

Mrs. p. I s'pose it is quite a place ? 

Delia. Place ? It's all the places y' ever heard of put int' 
one, 'n' some more added. It's like a thousand circus 
parades that never git by, 'n' then start all over ag'in. 

Mrs. p. My ! how I'd like t' go there, 'f I ever had time 
t' spare. I s'pose it's pretty grand where them Bur- 
leighs live ? 

Delia. "Grand" ain't no name for it. It's sumptual. 
When I think what Flora Goodwin's lost, t' take up 
with a plain farmer — wal, it's beyond me. It's my 
opinion it ain't his fault. 

Mrs. p. (s/i// sewing and rocking industriously). Who — 
Dave's ? 

Delia. No, Mr. Burleigh's, of course. To be sure, he 
never said much, that is, before me, but I could see he 
was terrible broke up when we told him 't Flora was 
goin' t' be married to Dave Weston. He give right up 
then, *s if they wa'n't no hopes, but I think it was all 
through some interferin' and misunderstandin', 'n' I 
shall think so to my dyin' day. 

Mrs. p. I s'pose it's too late now for 'em ever to 

Delia. Wal, Mis' Peasley, what you thinkin' of? Of 
course it is. Ain't the wedd'n* t*-morrow ? Looks 
likely they'll be a change of bridegrooms now. It ain't 
much like Dave Weston t' give her up, after gitt'n' this 
flu-. 

[The orgirn is (V^aifi heard, playing '^O Promise J/<?," or 
some other appropriate wedding piece.) 

Mrs. p. There's Snte Miller, ag'in, playin' another tune. 
I don't see what they want t' play sech solemn pieces 
at a wedd'n' for. She plays real well though, don't 
she? 

58 



FAE3I FOLKS 

Delia. Wal, hadn't she ought t', anybuddy 't gets fifty 
cents a Sunday for playin' in church? They're goin' 
t' give her two dollars, too, for playiu' at the wedd'n'. 

Mrs. p. You don't say? Two dollars, for not more 'n 
twenty minutes' work. I wish I could earn money that 
easy. 

Delia (^sea^ed i\.). I wonder how many miles a day you 
rock? 

Mrs. p. {stops rocking a?id looks sharply at Delia). 
Anybuddy 'd think it was wearin' out your rockers, 
the way you worry about it. I guess I'm makin' this 
go-away dress faster 'n you're makin' that cake. 

Delia. I didn't mean anything, Mis' Peasley. Seems t' 
me it's a pretty late day t' be makin' the wedd'n' 
clothes. 

Mrs. p. (again rocking). Wal, I was s' busy they had 
Mis' Patchin' make this, 'n' it was sech a botch Pve 
had to fix it all over. I don't mean t' brag, but — wal, 
I wouldn't hang the things she makes in my wood-shed. 

Delia. Of course, she ain't got the style you have. Mis' 
Peasley. Everybuddy said my wedd'n' outfit looked 
fine. You're off ag'in ! 

Mrs. p. Wal, 'f I don't rock I can't sew, 'n* you know 
Pm so rushed on this dress 't I ain't got a minute t' 
spare. 

Delia (rising). I must go 'n' make this cake. I told 
Mis' Goodwin Pd come over 'n' help her out, seein' 
they's so much t' do. (Goes to door l.) Somehow, 
though, I don't take much interest. 

Mrs. p. N'r me. I jest can't help thinkin' Flora Good- 
win's doin' somethin' she'll regret. She's marryin' one 
man when she loves another. 

Delia. Land, Mis' Peasley, how you talk! If any of 'em 
should hear you say that 

Mrs. p. I wouldn't want 'em to. But you know it's the 
truth, 's well 's I do, Delia Slocum — I mean "Finn." 
I guess 

Delia (looking r.). Sh ! here comes Mis' Goodwin. 

(Enter Sarah, r.) 

Sarah. Flora's just been trying on her wedding dress. It 
fits splendid, Mrs. Peasley. 

59 



FAB3I FOLKS 

Mrs. p. It ought to, the work I put on it. I guess you 

won't be ashamed of her with it on. 
Sarah. No, I guess not. My, DeUa, it seems like old 

times to have you around. It's real kind of you to 

come in and help so. 
Delia. Land, Mis' Goodwin, it's jest a pleasure. It ain't 

nothin' t' what you done for me when I turned fr'm 

Slocuni t' Finn. 

(£xU, L.) 

Sarah. Delia's a good girl. 

Mrs. p. Yes, she's worth a dozen of 'Lizy Bates. She's 

been tellin' me how grand it is t' the Burleighs', there 

in New York. See what your Flora might 've had. 
Sarah. Oh, Mis' Peasley, that's all in the past. It's 

the man you get, not what goes with him. Dave 

Weston is one of the best men that ever lived. 
Mrs. p. 1 ain't sayin' a word ag'inst Dave, but if I'm any 

jedge of men, they's been a big mistake somevvheres. 

Of course, it ain't none o' my business, but I don't 

b'lieve Mr. Burleigh ever done anything that wa'n't 

right. It's my opinion the truth never come out. 
Sarah. Then I hope it never will, now. It's too late to 

do any good. 
Mrs. p. Yes, I s'pose it is. Wal, I hope Flora' 11 be 

happy. Seems t' me, though, she looks kind o' 

pindlin'. I always s'posed a bride looked 's if she was 

glad of it. 
Sarah. Flora didn't have to have Dave, if she didn't 

want him. He's her own choice. 
Mrs. p. I hope you ain't mad. Mis' Goodwin. I didn't 

mean anything. 
Sarah. Of course I'm not mad, but I don't like to hear 

such talk. Mr. Burleigh is nothing to Flora any more, 

and she's getting a good husband that'll make her 

happy. (Go^s and looks over Mrs. P.'s shoulder.) 

How you getting along with that dress ? 
Mrs. p. Oh, I'll have it done all right; but Selina 

Patchin' certainly did come near makin' a mess of it. 

It's ready t' try on ag'in. Where's Flora? 
Sarah. I'll call her. {Goes to ^., calls.) Flora! Flora, 

come here a minute. Mrs. Peasley wants you to try 

on this dress. 

60 



FAE3T FOLKS 

Mrs. p. Jest the waist, that's all. The skirt's all right. 

Where they goiii' on their trip ? 
Sarah. To Niagara Falls, and from there to Rome, to 

visit some of his folks. 
Mrs. p. Land, sounds Uke they was go'n' t* take a trip t' 

Europe, don't it? (Sees Flora, who enters ^ r.) 

Here she is. 
Flora {who is rather pale ^ pauses r.). Did you want me, 

mother ? 
Sarah. Mrs. Peasley does. Your going-away dress is 

ready to try on again. I'll go in the kitchen and help 

Delia. There's plenty to be done. 

(Exit, L.) 

(Flora comes to c. ; Mrs. P. rises, straightening out the 
waist.) 

Mrs. p. Jest think. Flora; t'-morrow's your wedd'n' day. 

I s'pose you're awful happy ? You ought to be. 
Flora. Why, of course I ought to be, Mrs. Peasley — and 

1 am. 
Mrs. p. Wal, I must say, you don't look it. I never 

heard of a willin* bride lookin' as doleful as you do. 
Flora. Why, Mrs. Peasley, how can you say such things ? 

You ought to be ashamed to talk like that. I am 

happy, and you have no right to — to 

(Pauses, almost in tears, vainly striving to hide her emo- 
tion ; turns away, to r.) 

Mrs. p. (down to r. c). Mebbe I haven't, 'n' mebbe Fm 
meddlin', but you can't deceive me. It's Mr. Bur- 
leigh you love, Flora Goodwin, 'n' you're tryin' t' con- 
sole y'rself with another man. 

Flora {with a faint show of indignatioii). Mrs. Peasley, 
how dare you ? I won't listen 

(Starts to go out r.) 

Mrs. p. I s'pose you're mad, 'n' mebbe you've got a 
right t' be. But it ain't my fault if the truth hurls. 
It's your fault, though, if you marry one man when 
your heart b' longs to another. It ain't treatin' him 
right, 'n' it ain't treatin' y'rself right, 'n' it's more 'n 
likely you'll both suffer for it. (Passes her and goes 
6i 



FARM FOLKS 

to R.) I hope you'll f'rgive me 'f I've said too 
much, but it come out b'foie I knew it. When you 
get ready t' try this waist on, come in the bedroom. 
I'll be in there. 

(^Exii, R.) 

(Flora looks after her for a moment^ as if dazed^ then 
breaks dow?i, covers her face with her hands and sobs. 
After a pause^ Amos enters d. in fiat, followed by 
'BijAH. The latter is dressed in a cheap imitation of 
city style. They do not see Flora, who has gone to 
R., where she pauses and listens.) 

Amos. I d' know, 'Bijah, but it seems t' me 'tain't no use 
rakin' that up at this late day. Might 's well let by- 
gones be bygones. 

'Bijah. Not when y' c'n clear up a man's name for him, 
Mr. Goodwin, 'n' prove 't he ain't the scallawag folks 
has thought him. Mr. Burleigh — {he stands so that 
he happens to see Flora, while Amos does not, arid 
abruptly changes the subject) Mr. Burleigh took us 
around t' see all the sights, 'n' what we didn't see 
wa'n't wuth seein'. 

Amos {bewildered). Hey ? What's that you're sayin' ? 

'Bijah. 'S I was sayin', they've dug a hole clean under th' 
river, f'r 's much 's seventeen mile, 'n' the cars run 
right through there, under the water 'n' all, 'n' not a 
drop o' wet, 'n' some o' the buildin's 'r' as high 's 
forty o' the Methodis' church steeples one on top o' the 
other, 'n' 

Amos. You wa'n't talkin' about no {Sees Flora.) 

Oh! {Goes toward her.) Hello, there, little one. I 
didn't see y'. Why, what y' lookin' like that f'r? 

Flora {striving to conceal her agitation^. Why, nothing, 
father. I — it's nothing. I — Mrs. Peasley wants me; 
she's waiting for me, and I {Runs off to r.) 

Amos. I guess she heard. 

'Bijah. Course she did. See how quick I changed the 
subject ? I call that pretty cute, the way I done it. I 
guess she didn't ketch on to what we was talkin' about. 
As I was sayin', I'd be willin' t' bet my bottom dollar 
't we'd find out Mr. Burleigh's 's square a man 's ever 
walked in shoe leather, if the truth was known. 

Amos. I used t' think he was, but things turned out t' look 

62 



^AE3i FOLKS 

different. 'T any rate, 'tain't no use rakin' it up now, 
so I guess we won't talk about it any more, 'Bijah. 
{Goes i(? u) I want t' see 'f I can find mother. 

{Exit, L.) 

'Bijah {shaJdn^ his head to one side efiergetically, two or 

three times), ^y jing ! if I had my way Oh, 

that you, DeHa, dear? 
Delia {who has entered and stands in door l., her hands 

white ivith flour and a good-sized dab of it oji her face). 

Yes, it's me. Land, what you dressed up in them 

clothes for, this time o' day ? Ain't you got no sense? 
'Bijah (approaching her). Come here 'n' give me a kiss, 

sweetness. 
Delia. Go 'way with y'. Ain't you silly, dressin' up in 

y'r best clothes 'n' askin' me for a kiss, this time o' 

day. {He attempts to kiss her ; she gives him a play- 
ful slap, getti?ig flour on his face.) There ! 
'Bijah. Ouch ! that ain't the kind o' smack I wanted. 

All right, now I won't tell y' something. 
Delia. H'm ! I guess you don't know much worth tellin*. 

What is it ? 
'Bijah. Wouldn't you like t' know? It's something about 

Mr. Burleigh and (Sees Dave, who has entered 

from R., through door in flat.) Oh — ''Behold, the 

bridegroom cometh." 
Delia. Why, 'Bijah Finn, that's wicked. Hello, Dave. 

(Dave, who is rather pale and evidently stirred by so?ne 
emotion which he attempts to hide, stands c, stari?ig 
straight at the door r., not noticing the others.) 

Dave. Is Flora in there ? 

Delia (cofning to i.. c). I think so, Dave. I guess she's 

try in' on. 
Dave. Tell her I want to see her, please. Now. 

Delia. Why, Dave, how you look ! Has anything 

Dave. I want to see her. 

Delia {crossing to v..). All right, Dave. I'll tell her. 

{Exit, R.) 

'Bijah. I guess you're kind o' upset, ain't y', Dave, so 
nigh gitt'n' hitched ? I was. I tell you, 'tain't no fool 



FAE3I FOLKS 

thing, this giu'n' married business. Not that I wish I 
hadn't, 'r that you ever will, but it's a kind o' serious 
step the best way y' can put it. Of course, gitt'n' the 

girl you be, 'n' all (^Notices that Dave does not 

look at him or pay any attention to what he is saying.') 
Oh ! Wal, they say love 's blind, 'n' *t looks t' me 's 
if it was deef 'n' dumb, too. 

(Enter Delia, r.) 

Delia. She's comin' right out, Dave. {Crosses to L.) 
You come on in the kitchen with me, 'Bijah. I want 
you t' beat them eggs. 

{Exit, L.) 

'Bijah (l.). All right, I'll beat 'em. Cheer up, Dave; 
the wust is t' come. 

{Exit, l., chuckling.') 

(Dave, after stafiding a moment in silence, clenches his fist t 
with an expression of deter7?ii7iation. Enter Flora, 
R., wearing the same skirt as before, with the waist 
upon which Mrs. P. was working. She does not see 
Dave, who is up r., ufitil he speaks.) 

Dave. Flora. 

Flora. Why, Dave, you — Delia said you wanted to 

see me. 
Dave. Yes, I do. I — oh. Flora, how pretty you look ! 
Flora. It's the clothes, Dave. Doesn't this waist fit 

nicely ? Mrs. Peasley just finished it. It's the one I'm 

going to wear on our trip. 
Dave. Yes, I know — and it's very nice, and 

{He turns from her, as if his courage almost failed him.) 

Flora. Why, Dave, what's the matter? Has anything 
happened ? 

Dave {still with his face turned away). Yes — yes, some- 
thing has happened. I have something to say — to tell 
you — and — {turning to her) I — oh, I would rather die 
than tell it to you, but I must — I must ! 

Flora. Dave ! Dave, what is it ? You frighten me. 

{She puts her hand on his arm.) 
64 



FARM FOLKS 

Dave {inoving away from her). No ! — I'm not worthy for 
you to touch, to speak to. I'm a cheat— a thief — I'm 
not fit to be your husband, nor even to be your friend. 
Oh, I have tried to keep it to myself, to keep still and 
let you be my wife, but I can't do it; I can't take you 
with a lie on my soul, knowing what a cheat I am ! 

Flora. Dave ! Dave ! 

Dave. Oh, it's true, I tell you — true ! {Takes a sealed^ 
addressed afid stamped letter from his pocket and holds 
it out toward her,) There it is — take it — the thing 
that will prove how low and dishonest I am. I know 
it will make you hate me, but — take it ! 

Flora {taking the letter ^ mechanically). Why, Dave, I 
don't understand. What is it ? What do you mean ? 

Dave. Look at it. 

Flora {looking at the letter ^ at first not comprehending). 
It's for me. It's — it — oh, for me — from 

Dave. Yes, from — him. Look at the postmark. 

Flora. "August — 15." Last August. Why, it's an old 
letter. It was sent to me, and I never received it. 
And it's from 

Dave. From Mr. Burleigh. It's the letter you expected, 
that you thought never came. I got it out of the post- 
office, that day, and I kept it, so that you would think 
he hadn't written. I thought you would think he had 
forgotten you, and that — oh, I was crazy with jealousy, 
and I wanted you so bad that I was willing to do any- 
thing, if I could only get you. I didn't look ahead, 
I was blind — foolish — wicked, and I have tried to keep 
still, but I couldn't, and so I have told you. I know 
you won't marry me now, and that it's all over between 
us, but I had to tell you. I don't expect you to forgive 
me, but I had to tell you — I had to ! 

{He breaks down^ sinks into a chair ^ covering his face with 
his hands.) 

Flora. Oh, Dave, how could you? How could you do 
such a thing ? 

Dave {looking up). Because I thought you belonged to 
me, and that he had no right to take you from me. I 
thought you were only infatuated with his good looks 
and his city manner, and that you would forget him 

65 ;,•• 



FAEM FOLKS 

and love me again. I know — it was wrong — it was 
mean and cowardly — but there are times when a man 
will do anything to get the woman he loves. 

Flora. You loved me as much as that, Dave ? 

Dave (//<? /las rise/i). Yes, but I know now that even that 
doesn't excuse me. You wouldn't want a thief and a 
cheat for a husband. I tried to give you up, to tell 
you, but I couldn't. I meant to burn that letter, but 
somehow it seemed to me I couldn't do that, either. It 
seemed to be alive — it was my conscience. You can't 
kill your conscience, it is bound to make itself heard 
some time, and I couldn't burn that letter — it was 
bound to bring me to my senses at last — to make me 
confess — to give — you — up — and now — now, I have 
done it. 

(ZTtf again breaks downy turns from her and goes up c, 
about to go out, but pauses as Flora speaks.) 

Flora. Dave ! You did wrong, but — it was because you 
loved me — because you felt you had not been treated 
right, and you were not altogether responsible, I know 
you weren't, and I — I forgive you, Dave. See ! 

(He is L. c. ; she c. She quickly tears the letter in pieces.) 

Dave {taking a step toward her'). Flora ! 

Flora. There ! the letter is gone ; it is all gone. We will 

forget it, as if it had never happened, and — and we'll 

be happy, Dave. 

(She goes to him, he reaches out his hands, as if about to 
take her in his arms, but suddenly draws back.) 

Dave. No — no — I can't, I mustn't. I have given you up 

—I 

Flora. No, Dave, no. I am yours. 
Dave. No — not mine — his — his 



Flora. His ? Why, Dave, what do you mean ? I am 

yours. There is no one else. No one. 
Dave. You belong to him. It's not me you want — it's 

him. I wrote to him — I told him — and he — he 

{Suddenly turns from her and rushes out door in flat, L.) 

Flora. Dave ! 

66 



FARM FOLKS 



{She goes tip to door, looking out after him. She stands 
thus in silence. After a pause, enter Mrs. P., R.) 

Mrs. p. Why, Flora, what you standin' there for? I 

thought Dave was here. 
Flora {without looking around, suddenly starts back, with 

a stifled cry). Oh ! I saw — it's — oh ! 

{Turns and runs hurriedly off r,, /';/ great agitation, with- 
out looking back.) 

Mrs. p. For the land's sake, what's happened now, I 
wonder? {Goes up to door or window.) She must 
'a* gone crazy. {Looks out. After a slight pause, 
starts in great excitement.) Why, for goodness' sake, 
if it ain't — it is, as sure as — well, of all things — 
{rushing to l.) Mr. Goodwin — Mis' Goodwin 

{Exit, L.) 

{There is a pause, then Grace, /;/ traveling costume, and 
carrying a hand-bag, enters c. d. She stands for a 
moment looking about, then starts L., meets Delia as 
she enters.) 

Delia. My land, — you ? Here ! 

Grace. Why, it's Mrs. Finn. {Holds out her hand.) 

Aren't you glad to see me ? 
Delia. Why, yes, I s'pose I be — of course. But where 

under the canopy did you drop from ? 
Grace. From that rickety old stage coach that I thought 

never would get here. 
Delia. And he's come with you ? Mis' Peasley jest 

said 

Grace. Philip ? Yes, he is here, too. 

Delia. Well, of all things ! {Enter Sarah, l.) Mis' 

Goodwin, here's Miss Burleigh, and — she didn't come 

alone. 
Sarah {coming to c). Miss Burleigh? How do you do? 

{Enter Amos, l.) Amos, here's Miss Burleigh. 
Amos. How d' do, miss ? 
Grace. I am very glad to see you, both of you, and I 

hope — I hope 1 am not unwelcome ? 

{She shakes hands with them ; they submit, seeming scarcely 
to realize what is taking place.) 

67 



FAEM FOLKS 

Amos. Why, of course you're welcome, only, y* see — wal, 
you've took us by s'prise, kind o', 'n' — wal, Mis* 
Peasley says as how y' didn't come alone, *n' 

(^Enter Mrs. P., l. She stafids l., Sarah jiear her, Amos 
L. c, Grace c, and Delia r. c.) 

Grace. Yes, Mr. Goodwin, my brother came with me. 
There has been a terrible misunderstanding, and he has 
come to set it right. 

Amos. It's pretty late now, seems t* me. The wedd'n' 's 
comin' off t'-morr'w. 

Grace. Is it ever too late to right a wrong, Mr. Goodwin, 
or to prove that a person who has been misrepresented 
is innocent ? No, it is never too late for that, and my 
brother is here to be restored to your good opinion, and 
to prove that he never did one thing wrong or unmanly. 
Mr. Weston sent for him. 

Sarah. Mr. Weston ? Dave ? 

Grace. Yes. May I see Miss Goodwin ? I have some- 
thing to say to her. 

Sarah. Why, yes, I guess so. She's in the other room. 
Delia, will you show her ? 

Delia. Come right this way. Miss Burleigh. {Goes to R.) 

Grace {following her). Thank you. 

{Exit Delia, r., followed by Grace.) 

Sarah. Oh, dear, I don't know what to make of it. Here 

slie's going to be married to Dave, and he's come back. 

Dave sent for him, and — I don't know how Flora's 

ever going to stand it. 
Amos. There, there now, mother, you jest let 'em be. 

Things'U come out all right. If we've misjedged him, 

and it was him she wanted, and 

{He has his aim about her and they have gone to L.) 

Sarah. Why, Amos, do you mean 

Amos. I d' know what I mean, only {Enter Dave, 

from L., through door in flat. They pause as they see 

him.) Why, here's Dave. 

(Dave stands up c. He is very pale, but firm and brave. 
Amos and Sarah are l., Mrs. P. l. c. Delia enters 
and stands r.) 

68 



FA EM FOLKS 

Dave. Mr. Goodwin — Mrs. Goodwin — I have come to say 
good-bye. I — I am going away. 

(^T/ie organ 7nusic again starts, this tinie playing ^^ Hearts 
and Flowers, ' ' softly.^ 

Amos. Going away ? Why, Dave ! 

Sarah. Before the wedding, Dave ? 

Dave. Yes, to-day — now. Oh, there'll be a wedding, I 
guess, but I won't be here. It will be a happier one 
without me. I want you all to know I've tried to do 
what's right, that's all — tried to make up for what I did 
that was wrong and wicked. I don't expect you to 
forgive me — not yet — but some day, maybe, when you 
can begin to realize that it was because I loved her 
and thought she belonged to me — then — well, good- 
bye. {About to go.) 

Sarah. Why, Dave, ain't you going to say good-bye to 
Flora ? 

Dave. No, I mustn't see her again — I can't. Tell her — 
oh, never mind — she knows. She said she forgave me. 
She's an angel. Good-bye. 

{As he goes J Amos a fid Sarah start toivard him, but he 
rushes off up L. They stand a fnoment looking after 
hi?n, then Sarah bursts ittto tears.) 

Sarah. Oh, Amos, I don't know what it's all about. I 

don't understand. 
Amos (as he leads her to l.). Never mind. It's going t' 

be all right. There, there, don't you fret. 

{Exeunt, l.) 

(Mrs. p. has gone up to c, stands looking off. Delia 
crosses to l.) 

Mrs. p. Wal, what do you think of that ? Did you ever? 

Delia. That's jest like Dave. Ain't it brave of him ? 

Mrs. p. Land, do you s'pose she's goin' t' have Mr. Bur- 
leigh now, after what's happened ? I b'lieve I'd ruther 
have Dave Weston, anyway. 

Delia. But it ain't him she loves, 'n' love's somethin' 

69 



FAE3I FOLKS 

y' can't account for. I'm goin' t' finish that cake, 
anyhow. (^Goes l.) 

Mrs. p. I s'pose y' might's well. Cake's cake, wedd'n' 
'r no wedd'n'. {Looks off through door or window.) 
Oh, my land, there he is ! He's comin' in here. 

Delia. Then you come on. He don't want t' see us, yet. 

Mrs. p. No, I don't s'pose he does. 

'BijAH (ivho wears an apro?i and holds a large spoon cov- 
ered with floury appears in door L.). Say, come 'n' 
see 'f I've stirred this cake enough. 

Delia. Yes, I'm comin'. You go back in there. 

{She pushes him out l., folloiving.') 

Mrs. p. {as she goes l., looking back curiously). Wal, I 
declare, if it don't beat anything 1 ever read in "The 
Fireside Companion " ! 

{Exit, L.) 

{After a slight pause, Philip enters door up L. The music 
continues. He stands a moment looking about^ then 
starts down stage, as Grace enters R. She goes to 
him.') 

Grace. Philip ! She's in there. I have told her. 

Philip. And she will see me ? (Grace nods assent.) 
What — what does she say ? 

Grace. She is perplexed — frightened, but she loves you, 
Phil, only you. I am sure she will 

Philip {starting toiaard k.). Let me see her. I 

Grace {detainifig hi?n). Wait. She must have a few mo- 
ments to think — to realize what it means. It is all so 
sudden, so strange, she hardly knows what to think or 
to do. {She stands l. c, so that she can see Flora, 
who appears in door r., while Philip, who is dowti 
R. c, does not see her.) Oh ! — I — Philip — look ! 

(Grace turns him about so that he sees Flora, then runs 
off L., leaving them alone. Flora, 7tfith her head 
drooping, her hands tightly clasped, stands tremblingly 
leaning against door. Philip takes a step toward her^ 
holding out his hands, then pauses.) 

Philip. Flora ! 

70 



FA EM FOLKS 

{She remains silent^ but raises her eyes and looks at him 
with love and happiness^ then breaks down, cov- 
ering her face with her hands, takes a feiv steps toivard 
him, but totters and fiearly falls. He springs for- 
ward, catching her, clasping her in his arms and draw- 
ing her to him. She lets her head fall on his shoul- 
der and he kisses her rapturously. The music, which 
has been soft up to this point, noia changes again to the 
wedding anarch, which is played triumphantly, continu- 
ing for several moments after the curtain falls.') 



CURTAIN 



7' 



.X 



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